


Misconduct

by Nekotsuki



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: AU, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-19
Updated: 2014-02-13
Packaged: 2018-01-02 01:28:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1050927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nekotsuki/pseuds/Nekotsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the disastrous Nibelheim mission, Zack Fair returns to Midgar a hero. The dream has never meant so little. AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Sephiroth was laughing at him.  No great surprise there – Zack could count the number of times the guy had laughed on one hand, and every time it had been at his expense.  No, not quite, because he’d laughed in the village too, a snide sort of chuckle that had made Zack blink, and that hadn’t been at him.  Had it? 

_What about your parents?_

There was a small, wild part of Zack that wondered if maybe this was his fault.  The silver hair was not so immaculate now, the face not so serene, mouth stretched wide to laugh at him with those mad green eyes burning in the darkness, and all he could think was that maybe if he hadn’t brought it up, Seph wouldn’t have been thinking of his mother when he went into the reactor and saw the name above the door.  Stupid thing to think about when Nibelheim was burning to the ground.

_Cloud.  I’m so sorry—_

And he didn’t have time to think about that either, because Sephiroth was killing him again.  Steel snapped past his guard and carved a line of fire across his chest deep enough that he could taste blood in the back of his throat.  His feet were already sliding on the metal grating beneath him well before the force of Masamune’s strike sent him crashing down the stairs like a ragdoll.  And he should have expected that – Zack was good, but Sephiroth was a force of nature – but he tried hard this time to curl and protect himself, because this time maybe if he could—

_”Zack?”_

\--Blood in his eyes.  Footsteps – he saw the boots, faded brown and regulation infantry.  Blurring in his vision as they hesitated by his head, and then gone, up the stairs.  A slim wrist extended to take hold of the Buster Sword.  Zack swallowed and tried to find his voice.  Was sure he’d at least managed to croak the kid’s name. 

The spiky blond head didn’t turn back to look at him once. 

Reverent fingers on the glass. 

_My mother’s name is Jenova._

The blood in his mouth choked his words away and he had no strength at all to move.  Zack’s fingers curled on the stairs as his teeth clenched at the inevitable sound of the glass tube cracking, and on another day maybe he would have cheered for Cloud being able to even lift the damn sword.  But now, now he had to tell Cloud the most important thing—

_“Zack.”_

\--Blue eyes met his, frightened but determined, and maybe broken in a way – and then Cloud was gone again, running down the stairs out of sight.  Zack swallowed.  Heard the rest of the glass break and wondered crazily whether they taught the most basic of combat survival skills to the infantrymen because you didn’t just wound an enemy and then run away, but then Cloud had to be so many kinds of torn up right now and a sword buried that deep in the side of anyone should have killed them, so maybe that wasn’t Cloud’s fault.  And then he saw the curtain of silver hair again as Sephiroth drew himself upright and severed the head of Jenova _(not your Gaia-damned mother, you idiot)_ in one stroke, whirling around to stand in the broken doorway with blood soaking down his side. 

He wouldn’t spare Zack a second glance, and Zack knew why – he was down and he’d lost, and even if Zack were still a threat maybe there was enough of Seph left in there to hold back from killing one of his only friends.  But _Cloud_ —

Zack finally found his voice.

\---------

“Zack!”

Someone was yelling his name.  There was a soft hiss of pain by his ear, and the sound was enough to make him panic, eyes snapping open.  Someone was _hurt._  The room was suddenly all blinding edges and dark silhouettes.  He sucked in a breath and tried to struggle upright past a tangle of blankets, and was met almost immediately with a hand on his shoulder gently pushing him back down.  Someone was tugging at one of his hands.  Or maybe that was the other way around; he could feel the warmth of someone’s wrist caught between his fingers, and he wondered hazily if that meant he’d managed to drag Cloud somewhere safe. 

Dizziness washed over him and turned the room on its side. 

Zack groaned, raising his free hand to fist it against his eyes and block the light out.  He felt one final tug at his other hand and then the warmth was gone, fingers yanking out of his as if they’d been burned.  He heard slightly embarrassed laughter and footsteps hurrying away, a sound that seemed more than a little out of place given where he was. 

_But then, where am I?  This isn’t—_

“All right, Zack?”

The voice was softer now, and with a start he recognised it.  The hand on his shoulder hovered there a moment before pulling away. 

“I wouldn’t advise doing that again.”

Zack risked opening his eyes again and winced.  The room was too damn _bright,_ but at least he could make a little sense of it now.  He’d been in Shinra Medical enough times to recognise it.  He was currently curled in a hospital bed like an invalid, which he supposed he probably was, and there was a curtain drawn around the bed for privacy. 

Tseng was standing at the side of the bed.

The room was still tilting a bit at the edges, but at least the Turk was staying in focus.  Apart from the dizziness, he didn’t actually feel so bad; more worn out than anything else.  A little stiff.  Zack frowned.  Injuries aside, he had no idea how he’d managed to get here in the first place.  Nibelheim was a long way from—

Nibelheim.  _Shit._ He swallowed.  “Tseng…”

“You’ve been out for a couple of days,” Tseng said quietly.  “Your Restore materia took care of the worst of it, but you’ll need to recover from the concussion on your own.”

Well, that explained the dizziness.  Zack pushed his hair away from his face, grimacing at the feel of dried blood thickening the black strands and sticking to his fingers.  His injuries might have been healed, but no one had been nice enough to clean him up.  Tseng watched him with a neutral expression, and he gave a tired grin.  “I don’t buy that face.  You were worried about me, weren’t you?”

“You’re an asset to the company,” Tseng said without the ghost of a smile.  “I’ve been assigned to supervise your recovery, among other things.  That’s all.”

“Lies,” Zack said comfortably.  “You were yelling my name a few minutes ago.  See, that is _so_ unlike you.  _Were_ you worried?”

“Yes.”

“I knew it.”

Now Tseng _did_ smile, the corner of his mouth turning up.  “You were trying to crush the nurse’s hand, Zack.  I thought it wise to wake you, given the circumstances.”

Zack blinked, remembered the pained sound and the tug on his hand, and the grin slid off his face as he looked around.  They were alone, now.  It didn’t make him feel any better.  SOLDIER strength could snap all the bones in a person’s wrist without much effort.  “That’s - oh hell, I’m sorry.  Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Tseng assured him wryly.  “Though she may think twice about checking your temperature while you’re asleep.  You’ve been ... restless.”

_That’s one word for it._   Zack winced and rested his head back against the pillow, trying to ignore the phantom taste of blood rising at the back of his throat.  Fragments came back to him now.  Fire.  Green, inhuman eyes.  Laughter and breaking glass.  Cloud, finally putting an end to everything where Zack had utterly failed.  He was doing that a lot, lately. 

“Nibelheim?”

“Dealt with,” Tseng replied.  Then he hesitated.  “Zack, Sephiroth is dead.”

“I know.  Cloud killed him.”  He closed his eyes.  There was grief there, too.  He put it aside for now, remembering something else.  Cloud, white face and dead eyes above frightening bloody _holes_ in his chest, who had managed to hold himself up for a few seconds before tumbling bonelessly down the stairs.  Zack’s mouth twisted at the thought.  “Tseng, is he okay?”

The silence that followed was enough to send him cold.

_Please, no._

“Cadet Strife,” he said after a moment, hearing the pleading note enter his voice and not caring in the slightest.  He glanced up.  “He’s a little blond guy, would have been in the reactor – not ten feet away from me, Tseng—“

Tseng’s voice was very soft.  “I’m sorry, Zack.  He didn’t … you’re the only survivor.”

His hands fisted into the blanket.  _Spike._ His best friend, a terminally shy cadet who looked out of place in his own hometown and hid from his childhood crush.  He’d thought it was kind of cute.  A likable kid with fluffy hair that was too tempting to mess with, if only because it was so much fun to get a reaction out of him.  The thought was almost enough to make him laugh now and, oh Gaia, _that_ couldn’t be right—

It was suddenly hard to breathe.  The room blurred more, and he put a hand out to latch on to the bed rail for support.  Zack laughed anyway, then, an uneven sound that made Tseng take a step forward in concern, and that was enough for him to reach wildly for the Turk, fingers catching at a sleeve, voice weak.  “Are you _sure?_ ”

Tseng stared at him, then down at Zack’s hand.  He shook his head wearily.  “I’m sorry,” he said again.  “It was too late by the time we got there for anyone involved.”

“Except me,” Zack said hollowly.  “Did you even try?”

It was unfair; he knew it, couldn’t take it back.  The Turk’s eyes narrowed.  “He was dead before we arrived, Zack.  I’m sure you saw what Sephiroth did to him.”

Zack let go of Tseng’s sleeve.  Breathed.  Hunched on the bed and kept himself utterly still, trying to blink the sudden hotness away from his eyes.  He barely registered when Tseng started speaking again; was too busy thinking that Cloud had idolised Sephiroth, and Seph had been indulgent of that because Cloud was friends with Zack, and _Sephiroth_ had been his friend too, and this was so many kinds of fucked up he didn’t know whether to laugh again, or cry, or punch Tseng in the face for being so _callous_ about it. 

“…Are you listening?”

“Yeah.” 

Tseng gave him a doubtful look.  “Now that you’re awake, Shinra is going to want a full report on what happened in Nibelheim.  I’m supposed to inform them the moment you’re able to give one.”

Zack said nothing.

“Zack, _listen_ to me.” 

The soft, urgent whisper got his attention.  He glanced up again to find Tseng closer than ever, eyes trained on the gap in the curtain. “Your injuries from the reactor are documented,” the Turk said in a low voice.  “I would expect that with a head wound, your memory of events might be somewhat disjointed.  Shinra will accept that, should you be unable to remember certain things clearly.”

 Zack stared at him.  What did that have to do with anything?  He frowned. “Tseng—“

“Remember Banora, Zack.”

Tseng drew the curtain back, letting the brighter lights of the ward wash over them.  Zack winced away from it, squinting at Tseng as he turned back, his next words deliberately bland.  “You’re obviously still recovering.  I’ll inform the president that you will report to him first thing in the morning.  And I’m sorry.”  Softer still.  “About both of them.  Try and focus on what you have left.”

_Easy for you to say._   But he bit the words back, watching expressionlessly as the Turk left without another word.  Concussion or no, he’d had no trouble picking the warning behind Tseng’s words. 

More than one, if he wasn’t mistaken. 

Abruptly, he swung his feet down to the floor, hands gripping the bed rail as he waited for the room to stop spinning.  Maybe he was moving too fast.  Zack didn’t care. 

He wanted out. 

\---------

She recognised his voice straight away, of course.  Aerith paused at the steps of the church and wondered, for a second, just who he could be talking to.  And then she smiled.  The church was no longer empty when she left it, and of _course_ he would strike up a conversation in her absence.  She pushed open the door as quietly as she could, her smile growing wider as she picked out the familiar dark spikes of Zack Fair, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the flowers with his hands ruffling the soft fur of her self-appointed guardian like the poor thing was a wild chocobo, a grin on his face.

The sweetness of realising that he’d returned from whatever mission had taken him from Midgar was enough that she didn’t realise there was anything wrong, at first.

“…should really call you something,” he was saying easily.  “Can’t just keep calling you an Angeal copy.  Especially if you’re sticking around, right?  Though if you’re gonna protect my girlfriend, you should totally be following her home at night instead of staying in here.”  Zack turned, his grin turning wolfish as he caught her gaze.  “Hell, _I_ would.”

“Welcome home,” she teased, lowing her basket onto a bench as she approached.  “And my mother would have a fit if he turned up on my doorstep.  She has enough trouble with certain other strays.”

“Hey!” he protested softly. 

Aerith giggled.  “When did you get back?”

Zack turned his attention back to the copy.  “Yesterday?  Maybe this morning.  Came in by helicopter, I think.”

“You _think?"_

“Well, it’d make sense.  I had to cross the sea – can’t really do that in two days without flying being involved.”

She cocked her head, staring at him suspiciously.  “Zack--”

And then she stopped.  She was close enough now – practically looming over him – that she could see the traces of blood matted in his hair.  Aerith bit her lip, sinking down on her knees beside him as she reached out with careful hands to smooth his spikes away from his face, looking for the injury.

“Sorry,” he said softly, and gave her a strained smile, holding still while she examined him.  “But I’m actually okay.  Well, mostly.  I didn’t want to worry you.  I should’ve taken a shower before I came down here, but I was in enough trouble sneaking out as it—“

“You snuck out?”  Aerith blinked, then frowned at him, hands stilling in his hair.  “Zack, were you in hospital _?_ ”

“Technically,” he muttered.  “And sorry, by the way.  I might have had to charm some nurses on the way out.”

She laughed, a sound caught somewhere between worry and outright exasperation.  “Cheater.”  He was telling the truth, though; the blood was old and her careful fingers found no injuries.  Aerith settled back on her heels to look him in the face, taking note of the faint glassiness of his eyes.  She sighed.  “You probably should have stayed there. You don’t look very well.”

“I’ll be okay.” 

“But you’re not okay now, right?  I could have waited until you slept it off, Zack.”

“Not sure I’d get the chance tomorrow.” 

Zack was still smiling, and she finally realised it didn’t reach his eyes.  Aerith frowned a little and started to pull back, only to have him reach forward to catch her fingers in his own.  “Don’t,” he said, his voice far too casual.  “It’s not you.”

His hand was cold, wrapped around hers with a brittle strength that suggested he was trying not to grip more tightly.  Aerith lay her other hand over his and felt the tremor of tension running through him; glanced up and met the pale gaze of the clone before it turned away, taking flight to the church rafters.  She understood it well enough.

When she reached forward to slide her arms carefully around his neck, Zack made a soft sound and pulled her up to his chest, holding her close.  His face buried itself in her shoulder, and she swallowed, feeling him tremble. 

“I’m here,” she whispered.

Zack laughed softly.  “I know, babe.  Just …give me a minute, okay?”

She didn’t answer, nestling comfortably on the floor of the church; letting Zack clutch her to him like one of her mother’s dolls, her own fingers tracing soothing circles along his spine, prepared to stay as long as he needed her to.  It didn’t take long before he finally broke, his frame relaxing against her even as his grip tightened, and she felt the first tears fall. 

“Gaia, Aerith,” he said, voice muffled against her neck.  “I should’ve told him to _run._ ”

\---------

A hard surface pressed against his shoulder blades; the insistent chill of it connected him back to reality in fragments.  The brilliant white of the world clawed at him even through eyes squeezed shut in self defence.  His thoughts were scattering too fast for him to take in more than _cold_ and _bright_ , but mountain-bred instincts put those two sensations together and told him he was in trouble; that he had fallen asleep in the snow, or maybe he’d just fallen, and the mountain would kill him if he didn’t get up _now_. 

Then he tried to move, and _that_ was a mistake—

“He’s conscious!”  The voice was female, and surprised, and competing with the high-pitched, breathless sound of a scream somewhere else on the mountain.  _Tifa_ , he thought, and then _not Tifa._ Then her name was gone, lost to the void.  Something was very wrong – the chill beneath him paled before the gaping, frozen agony that spiked through his chest and sucked his senses away.  When he tried to inhale, the pain _tugged_ at his lungs and he choked, giving way to ragged coughing 

Shadows moved across the brightness, and he heard an annoyed male voice in reply.  “Unprofessional, Dr Grey.  He’s hardly of any use to me if he bites through his tongue.” 

Cool fingers gripped his jaw, working his mouth open.  He flinched.  The man’s hands smelled strongly of blood and mako, powerful smells associated with—

_Sephiroth._   Memory.  Fire and his mother, and those _eyes_ and Tifa hurt and Zack crumpled on the stairs and blood everywhere.  _Dead_.  They were all dead and now he knew why he hurt so badly, what the agony through his chest was that transfixed him and … and there was a man he didn’t know with his fingers in his mouth.  He pulled away but the grip on his jaw jerked him back into place and held his head still. 

“Very good.  However, best not to take chances.”

“Professor, wouldn’t it be better to use materia?  The boy could die.”

A soft chuckle.  “Not this one.” 

Fingers patted at his cheek before withdrawing.  He ducked his head away from the sensation, paying for it with sudden nausea that threatened to drown out the voices.  His heart thudded in his ears, and he felt the first stirrings of fear.  Doctors weren’t meant to _laugh_ like that—

“—best with a natural recovery.  It will provide the foundation for—“

The fingers returned, and fear twisted into terror when they pried open his teeth to wedge something hard between them.  His eyes flew open, sound catching at the back of his throat. There was nothing but blinding light and warping silhouettes that spun against his senses.  He was breathing too fast, shallow and jagged, fighting to hold onto reason.  After all, the woman had said _the boy could die_ , hadn’t she?  Didn’t that mean they were saving his life?

_Zack--!_

He didn’t panic until he felt the cold point of metal press against bare skin on the side of his abdomen.  Then sharp pinpricks tugged lightly at his flesh, and the world upended as he was torn in half.

Cloud _screamed._


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a whole bunch of people stand around talking, and it's still more dangerous than walking a tightrope.

“You’re kidding.”

“You know better than that.”

“I do, but you’re still kidding.”  Zack looked up, frowning as Tseng strode away down the corridor.  He had to run to catch up, which wasn’t doing his headache any favours.  “Right?  C’mon--”

The look Tseng gave him was equal parts exasperation and amusement.  “I didn’t have anything to do with it, Zack.  You’re asking the wrong person.”

Zack scowled, turning his attention back to the newspaper half-scrunched in his hands.  The morning edition, and he wouldn’t have bothered looking at it at all if the reception girls on the ground floor hadn’t waved him over with such bright smiles on their faces. 

The sight of his own cheerful face splashed across the front page would have made him dance through the halls and probably terrorise every cadet and high-ranking SOLDIER in sight, had it happened much earlier.  Now, it just filled him with a sense of alarm.  The photo was the stock one from his personnel file and was out of date – he’d cut his hair since then. 

_\--and his further rise to the rank of 1 st Class was made in record time.  His selfless actions to protect our citizens from the recent attacks combined with his charisma and boyish good looks make Zack one of the most popular faces in Midgar—_

“Snow job,” Zack muttered, reading further down the page.  Then he blinked. “This can’t be right.”

Tseng sighed, pausing by the next door.  “What?”

Abruptly he folded the paper in half and tucked it under one arm.  “My photo,” Zack grinned.  “It’s too old.  Do I _look_ that young and gullible to you?” 

“No comment.  They’ll take another one.  Probably more.”

“You’re kidding,” he said again. 

Tseng shrugged.  “Learn to live with it, Zack.”

“I think I can manage,” he said innocently.  “I mean, I’ve had years to get used to my boyish good looks.”

Tseng responded by arching an eyebrow and turning his back, swiping his card through the electronic lock.  The door slid open.  “Come on.”

Zack hesitated.  “Tseng?”

“Yes?”

“You know what this paper says.”

“Yes.”

He swallowed, running a hand through his hair.  “Is there even any point to this meeting?”

Tseng caught his gaze.  “You know better than that, too.”

_True._ He followed Tseng through the doorway and into the plush carpeted reception area for the executive offices.  Another thing out of place; they’d bypassed the two SOLDIER floors entirely, which had struck Zack as odd – chain of command meant he should be reporting straight to the Director.  But then Lazard was probably still missing, come to think of it… 

Zack sighed.  Maybe there was nobody for him to report _to._  It wasn’t as if there were a lot of people qualified to take over the role.  He was pretty sure Shinra had been grooming Seph for the role before…

Well, before. 

Tseng led him to the polished oak doors of the corporate meeting room, then turned to give him a wary look.  “Are you ready?”

He shrugged.  “Sure, why not?  Might as well get it over with.  Although,” he added with a faint smile as he caught the troubled look in the Turk’s eyes, “I’m still not sure how much help I can be.  You know.  Memory and all.”

Tseng snorted, but he offered Zack a nod that was almost friendly as he pushed the doors open. 

The board room lights were bright enough to make him wince under the sudden onslaught.  He caught sight of several people seated at the end of the long table before he had to glance away, blinking the sudden spots away from his eyes.  _Ow.  
_

“Tseng, dim the lights a little.”  The voice was warm and concerned, and set alarm bells ringing despite the apparent sincerity; he _knew_ that voice.  “I’m sorry, Zack.  Tseng’s report did say you were injured, but I should have realised you were still recovering.  How’s your head?”

Zack stood at attention and snapped a formal salute.  A fairly impressive one, he decided wryly, given he was squinting against the darkening lights and the newspaper was still stuffed under his arm.  He should’ve dumped the damn thing at reception.  “It’s fine, sir.”

The room came back into focus again, and Zack nearly cursed, standing straighter than ever.  Behind him, the doors clicked shut and he heard the soft scuff of Tseng’s shoes as he moved, taking up a position somewhere he couldn’t see.  Playing the inscrutable Turk, he guessed.

“The light is still irritating, I see.” Facing him at the head of the long table, the President of the Shinra Electric Company favoured him with a benevolent smile that set his teeth on edge.  “We’ll try not to keep you long.”

_We_ consisted of two others at the table; Zack recognised Heidegger, at least, though he had no clue why he was there.  The big man was glaring at him over his beard with a hostility that he found strangely reassuring.  It seemed a lot more honest, at any rate.  The other man with the unruly mop of grey hair was a total stranger to him, but Zack could guess which department he came from.  The lab coat and the calculating expression in the man’s dark eyes as he stared at Zack were a dead giveaway. 

He hadn’t been expecting to report to the President.  Zack took a breath.  _Tseng, I am_ so _going to kill you. Best behaviour, best behaviour…_ “Thank you, sir.”

The President waved a hand.  “At ease.  I can see you’ve seen the paper today.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“What did you think?”

Zack blinked.  “Come again?  Uh, sir?”

Angeal would have had _kittens_ by now.

The President’s lips twitched.  “The article.  What did you think of it?”

“Which part, sir?” he asked dryly before he could stop himself.  _Oops._ And then:  _Hell with it._  He wasn’t built for this kind of stuff.  “The part about my charisma or the part where it says I’m the hero of Nibelheim?”

Behind him, Tseng’s breath stuttered, barely heard on the edge of Zack’s keen senses.  He resisted the urge to offer the Turk a nasty grin and instead kept his gaze on the President’s face, watching as the man’s smile grew wider. 

“Very good, Zack,” he said softly.  “I appreciate your frankness.  You’re aware, of course, that the article is for the purposes of publicity only.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good.”  President Shinra leaned back in his chair, folding his hands in his lap.  “I’ll hear your report now.”

Zack straightened again, all formality.  “General Sephiroth and I were assigned to investigate reports of a malfunctioning reactor and the appearance of—“

“Yes, yes.”  The President waved him off.  “I’m not interested in hearing _why_ you went to Nibelheim.  You can submit those particulars in writing.”

_What a shock._   Zack kept his face blank, suddenly very conscious of Tseng’s gaze trying to burn a hole between his shoulder blades.  The Turk was clearly nervous, which he wasn’t sure he understood.  Tseng had nothing to worry about here, did he?  “Where do you want me to start?”

“Sephiroth,” was the cool response.  "Tell me why my best SOLDIER is dead, Lieutenant Fair.”

Zack nearly flinched, both at the blunt demand and the sudden icy look in the President’s eyes.  It occurred to him, now, why President Shinra of all people was hearing this report.  Stupidly obvious, really, and it made his stomach turn to think about it. 

Seph had discussed the President with him, once; that the man tended to think of him as a glorified bodyguard and was liable to threaten the _great General Sephiroth_ as an ultimatum to any and every problem he faced, no matter how small.  Zack had suggested quite cheerfully that he buy the man a nice, stuffed Sephy doll to cuddle up to at night to make him feel secure.  ( _I am not a doll,_ Sephiroth had said flatly.  But he _had_ smiled afterward, so Zack considered that a win.)

President Shinra wasn’t going to give a damn about the fact that Nibelheim had burned down or that people had lost their lives … and he sure as hell wasn’t going to want to hear the truth from Zack. 

_Shit.  What do I say?_   He took a breath.  Tseng had given him an out.  “I’m sorry, sir.  I can’t answer that question.”

The President’s eyebrows lifted in disbelief.  “Nonsense.  You were there.  You were Sephiroth’s second.  Surely you must have witnessed events.”

“I witnessed quite a few things,” Zack retorted.  “Sir.  But I don’t know how things ended.  I was injured in the line of duty.  I – uh …”  He paused, then gave a carefully helpless shrug.  “I have some vague memories of the reactor, but not much.  All I can tell you is what I remember, sir.”

The man in the lab coat glanced up at him curiously, then nodded.  His voice was unexpectedly soft. “Amnesia is a hallmark of concussion, Mr President - anterograde and retrograde.  I understand the injury was quite severe.  Lieutenant Fair could be suffering from either or both.”

The President frowned slightly, but then relaxed.  “My apologies, Zack.   Tell us what you can, then.  Anything that you think could help.”

_And now we’re back to pretending we’re best friends._ But Zack only smiled as gratefully as he could.  “Thank you, sir.”

“Start from your return to Nibelheim.”

Zack froze.  _Start from—_   “Sir?”

The President gave him a pleasant smile.  “What happened once you returned to the village after your inspection?”

_They know._ They had to; someone had been watching, or a villager had survived and been questioned – and that meant he was on very thin ice.  Depending on _what_ they knew – if the Turks had conducted a full investigation, then they could already have the whole story, with the possible exception of just _why_ Seph had gone mad.  But that couldn’t be the case, could it?  Tseng had already told him they’d arrived on the scene too late to … to do anything except peel Zack off the ground and take him home.  He closed his eyes on that memory, forcing his fingers to unclench. 

_Don’t go there._

Probably, it was just a survivor, telling a survivor’s point of view.  But if that were the case, Shinra would already know that Sephiroth had been the one that destroyed Nibelheim.  _Then why ask?_ To confirm the story, maybe. 

No, that wasn’t it.  Tseng had taken great pains to warn him off the whole truth. 

_Remember Banora, Zack._

This wasn’t about Nibelheim.  It wasn’t even about Sephiroth, and it definitely wasn’t about dutifully reporting in after a mission that had gone wrong.  This was about _Zack_.  And what he knew, or didn’t know, and whether what he knew was too much.  Because Shinra was far too attached to its secrets and its science projects, and he had the strong feeling that that _thing_ in the reactor – and Seph’s reaction to it - was a project on a lethal kind of need-to-know basis.

_All evidence of misconduct must be erased._

Fuck.

“Zack?” The concern was back in the President’s voice.  “Are you all right?”

And here he was proving how clever he was by standing in a board room with his eyes shut.  Zack blinked and dredged up a watery smile.  “Sorry, sir.  I guess I’m not quite as healthy as I thought.”

_On the other hand, my picture_ is _in the paper today.  Now, why is that?_

“Feel free to sit down if you need to,” the man invited. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said easily.  “Once we returned to Nibelheim, I was put on standby.  Sephiroth told me he wanted to spend some time at the old Shinra Manor.”

“Why is that?”

“I’m not sure, sir.  He mentioned something about research.”  _Chew on that, you old windbag._

The President frowned again.  “You didn’t know what he was doing?”

“No, sir.  He insisted on total privacy.”

“And you gave it to him?”

Zack gave him a crooked grin.  “When Sephiroth wants privacy, you give it to him.  _I’m_ not going to tell him what he can or can’t do.  He’s my superior officer, sir.”

The President chuckled.  “True, true.  Do you have any idea at all what he might have been researching?”

_Plenty._

“None, sir.  With respect, I just assumed he’d been ordered to retrieve some information while he was in Nibelheim.”

“I see.”  The President was smiling more genuinely, now.  Right answer.  “What did you do during that time?”

“Patrolled the outskirts of the village and kept it clear of monsters.  Uh … maintained good relations with the townsfolk and ensured they had no further problems.  Fixed a roof.” 

_Had dinner with Cloud and his mother. Nice lady.  She made him turn red almost as much as I did._

_Don’t_ go _there, Zack._

“Then about a week later,” he continued after a moment, voice steady, “I woke up and found the town was burning.  I didn’t see who was responsible or how it was started.”  Which was perfectly honest; Sephiroth had left long before Zack had arrived on the scene.  “Cadet Strife and I searched for survivors.  One reported seeing Sephiroth heading for the reactor, so I followed.”

All true, in a vague sort of way.  The President watched him thoughtfully.  The scientist, Zack noticed, was no longer staring at him but rather jotting down careful notes on the memo pad in front of him.  Heidegger was still totally silent, arms folded and scowling, which was kind of odd – from all Zack had heard of the guy, he expected a lot more obnoxious posturing than this. 

That was probably a bad sign, really. 

“Why?”

“I’m his second,” Zack said flatly.  “I assumed he had a good reason for going there, so I went to support him.  Strife stayed behind to assist the townspeople.”

The President nodded impatiently, urging him on with a flick of his hand.  Cloud’s role wasn’t important.  Nor, Zack realised with sudden weariness, would any of the men here give a damn about the _other_ infantryman they’d lost on the mountain.  He shook his head and worked up a rueful smile from somewhere.  “After that, I’m not so clear, sir.  I went in.  I was obviously attacked.”

“You can’t remember more than that?”

Zack met the President’s gaze.  “Nothing that makes any sense.  Flashes, mainly.”

The other man frowned. “I see.  That’s a shame.”  He studied Zack for a moment, then leaned forward, supporting his fleshy chin on his hands.   “What about Genesis?”

_That,_ he wasn’t expecting.  He blinked.  “Genesis?”

“Yes.  The First you failed to kill in Modeoheim,” the President said smoothly.  “I understand he was seen in the area?”

_…Tseng, you total bastard._

No villager would have known that.  The Turks had been watching all along.  Zack clamped down on the anger and the sense of betrayal ( _they’re Turks, it’s what they do, Tseng is no exception_ ) and instead gave a short nod. 

“Yes, sir.  He was there.  He attacked us at the reactor while we were inspecting it.”  At least he didn’t have to try protecting Genesis; he wasn’t really inclined to, either.  After all, it was possible that it was the redhead’s little speech that tipped Seph over the edge in the first place. 

“Interesting,” the President murmured, smiling again.  “Unprovoked?”

Zack snorted.  “He asked Sephiroth for help.  Sephiroth turned him down.”

“Help with what?”

“Not entirely sure, sir,” he replied levelly.  “I think I was cordially disinvited from the conversation.  Genesis packs a mean Fire.”

“He attacked you specifically, then.”

“Yes, sir.  He also attacked our people outside.”  _Tifa._ He hadn’t even thought about her until now.  He remembered thinking it might have been fun to tell her just who she’d helped drag back to Nibelheim - much later, when Cloud was either over his shyness or somewhere out of striking distance – and he shifted on his feet as he realised she was probably dead, too.  _You’re the only survivor._

Of course, Tseng had been the one to tell him that. 

“You say he used Fire?”

“Yes, sir.”

The smile grew wider.  “And the town of Nibelheim was burned to the ground, correct?”

He blinked.  _That_ was a big jump.  “Uh—“

“Did Genesis show any hostility towards the townsfolk of Nibelheim?”

Zack stared at the President incredulously.  “Wait, you're pinning this on _Genesis_?”

“Is there any reason we shouldn’t suspect him, Lieutenant Fair?” the President countered, voice mild.  “He's attacked Shinra several times in the past.  If Sephiroth turned him away, it's not a far stretch to believe he would attempt to hinder your mission.”

Not protecting Genesis was one thing; framinghim was something else.  “With all due respect, sir,” he said, “I really don't think Genesis would have destroyed an entire town out of spite.”

The President practically _grinned. “_ You're too naive, Zack.  He's done it once before.”

He opened his mouth to protest that, and then shut it.  Even he knew that slinging accusations about the way Banora had been dealt with was suicidal, given who he was talking to.  And Genesis _had_ killed the villagers – all the people he’d grown up with.  He couldn’t deny that. 

_Just like Sephiroth._

He wasn’t going to leave _that_ alone either, no matter what Tseng said.

“The possibility will be investigated further.”  President Shinra straightened, looking pleased.  “Is there anything else that you can tell us that could be of assistance?”

“Not that I recall, sir.”

“Thank you, Zack.  You understand that everything you've heard in this room is classified?”

“Of course, sir.” 

The President hesitated, then smiled at him.  “I understand you were on good terms with General Sephiroth.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you were also close with one of the infantrymen that accompanied you.”

Zack flinched.  “Yeah,” he snapped.  Then he sucked in a breath, staring down at his feet.  “Yes.  Sir.”

“It's all right, Zack.”  The President offered him an understanding look.  “I know how hard this must be for you.”

He managed a small grin at that.  “It's been easier, sir.”

“Shinra appreciates the excellent work you've done for us in the past,” the President continued.  “I'd like to show our appreciation.”

“My picture in the paper?” he asked wryly.

“We’ll discuss that more later.  It serves more than one purpose, I'm sure you understand.”

He did, actually.  It surprised him on some level just how cynical he’d become about the way Shinra operated.  “Perfectly, sir.”

“Things are a little disorganised right now, Zack,” the President continued, finally standing up, and Zack fought back a sigh of relief.  They were done.  “As you're aware, SOLDIER is currently lacking a Director.  We'll keep you updated on the changes we make.  For now, I'm placing you on indefinite leave.”  As Zack stiffened, he held up a hand.  “This isn't a punishment - you've been through a lot.  However, I'd like you to stay in Midgar for the duration   I trust you have ways to keep yourself occupied?”

_Stay in Midgar?_ He wasn’t in the clear after all, then.  But leave was leave, Midgar at least had Aerith … and Zack wasn’t in any hurry to return to work.  He saluted.  “Yes, sir.”

“Very good.  You can go.”

\---------

The board room was silent for a few moments after Zack had left, giving Tseng a hooded look that put him on notice; the First was not happy with him.  Not that surprising, he knew.  The only sound was the faint scratch of the pen as the scientist - Tseng vaguely recognised him as one of Hojo’s underlings – finished his notes. 

Then Heidegger snorted and pushed himself away from the desk, scowling across at the man with an air of impatience.  “Well?”

“You know I can’t make a judgment without a more thorough examination,” the scientist murmured, still writing.  “You can order him in for counselling rather plausibly given he had friends amongst the deceased.  The reports can be monitored closely from there.”

President Shinra looked thoughtful.  “Put aside your official opinion for now, Dr Emil.  What’s your impression of Fair?”

Emil closed the notebook delicately and placed it on the table again before looking up.  “It’s possible, even probable, that Fair has damaged recall,” he said.  “But as to whether it’s damaged to the extent he claims, it’s unlikely.  He doesn’t display enough confusion, and some of his responses to you were rather evasive.  This implies knowledge that he’s trying to hide from you.”

Translation:  Zack made for a poor liar.  Tseng suppressed a wince and waited for the inevitable as the President made a disappointed sound. 

“That’s a shame.  We could have used him.”

“You may still be able to,” Emil said unexpectedly, his eyes meeting Tseng’s for just a moment.  Tseng blinked.  The scientist smiled slightly as he turned back to the President.  “Mr President, Fair’s case file shows an unswerving loyalty to Shinra thus far, no questions asked.  There could be any number of reasons he wishes to say nothing, and many of them would not hinder the company.  It’s why I recommend the counselling; you can ascertain Fair’s motives and recollection in a more unguarded atmosphere.”

“What do you mean, _not hinder_ the company?” Heidegger demanded.  “He’s lying to us, isn’t he?”

“It depends on what he’s lying about, if at all,” Emil said, tapping his notebook.  “We’re unsure of the full events at the reactor, but it _is_ clear that General Sephiroth is the man behind the burning of Nibelheim.  The two of them were friends.  Perhaps Fair merely wishes to protect the General’s reputation.”

That was entirely plausible, Tseng realised with a start.  A reason that was very much in keeping with Zack’s character, and one that could be built on to save his life.  Why the scientist was going out of his way to _protect_ Zack, he was unsure; he had enough mistrust of the whole of the Science Department to suspect that Emil had ulterior motives, especially given who his direct superior was. 

Nevertheless, Emil’s reasoning had brought the thoughtful look back to the President’s face, and the man smiled almost fondly.  “He’s very young.  Tseng?” 

The Turk straightened.  “Yes, sir.”

“Fair is back here with us on your recommendation, is that not so?” 

Heidegger glanced up at him in surprise.  Tseng pretended not to notice.  “Yes, sir.”

“I understand your reasoning on his value quite well,” the President said.  “And you are an astute man.  You would not have had him returned to Shinra if you believed he was a threat to the company.”

He understood the implied question, and gave a short nod.  “Commander Hewley.”

“Hewley?”  Heidegger was looking irritated, now.  “What’s he got to do with this?”

“Fair was trained by Hewley,” Tseng said evenly.   “They were very close.  When Hewley deserted, it was Fair who finally killed him.”

“I understand he refused to go after him when the mission came up,” the President said, folding his hands. 

“He did, sir,” Tseng replied.  “As did Sephiroth, for much the same reason.  They were too close to the target.  However, the mission at Modeoheim pitted them against each other.  Presented with no other choice, Fair chose his loyalty to Shinra over Hewley.”

He was sure that loyalty had very little to do with Zack’s motivations in that particular fight, actually – not after seeing Zack’s face as he’d left the bathhouse – but there had only been two witnesses to the aftermath of Angeal’s death, and Tseng knew without doubt that neither of them would tell a soul.  His thoughts drifted to Nibelheim at that – to the blond cadet – and he pressed on hurriedly, attempting to ignore the flash of distaste at the memory of Hojo and his laughter. 

“Fair refused to discuss the incident more than he had to, but he certainly performed his duty in this regard,” he said.  “There is precedent for the possibility that Dr Emil has raised.”

The President nodded in approval.  “If that _is_ the case, we can certainly still use him.  At the very least, he can play out his role as the media’s darling while we ascertain for ourselves if Fair will be a problem.  You will, of course, be watching him closely during this time.”

“Of course.” 

“What do you think, Heidegger?”

Heidegger was still scowling.  Tseng suppressed a sigh, knowing what the man was going to say next.  “I don’t see what’s so important about Fair.  If he’s a threat, why not deal with him now?  You should’ve just left him in—“

“You’ve been through the personnel records of SOLDIER this week,” the President interrupted him. 

“Yes, but—“

“How many active Firsts do we still have?”

Heidegger wasn’t the most perceptive of people, but he wasn’t stupid.  He narrowed his eyes.  “Five.  Six, including Fair.”

“A promotion to First Class has always been reserved for the best,” Tseng said, keeping his voice neutral as the scowl was turned on him.  “Most never make it past Second.  Those who do make First are the representative face of SOLDIER.”

Heidegger snorted.  “Fair only made First to shut him up.”

“You really think so?” Tseng said, voice sharper than he intended.  “With due respect, Hewley recommended Fair for First on his own merits.  It had nothing to do with Hewley’s subsequent defection or any question of Fair’s loyalty.”

“That’s true.” The President smiled.  “Whatever else you could say about Lazard, our previous Director wouldn’t promote a boy of Fair’s age to First Class without believing he was ready for it.”

Tseng wondered if he was imagining the bitterness in the man’s voice, and then decided it was none of his business right now.  Zack was; he still wasn’t in the clear, not if Heidegger couldn’t be convinced to use him.  Instead, he changed tack.  “Sir, are you aware that some of our more prominent Firsts have a following among the public?”

Surprisingly, Heidegger let out a bark of laughter.  “Of course I am!  My niece is part of the Rhapsodos one, whatever it’s called—“

“Red Leather,” Emil said absently, scratching away in his notebook. 

Tseng blinked at that.  “The most popular SOLDIER, from the program’s very inception, has been Sephiroth,” he said.  “Public Relations worked hard to make him so, as I’m sure you’re aware.  Hewley and Rhapsodos were also quite popular in their own right.”

Heidegger’s brow furrowed.  “So?” 

Tseng took a breath.  “Sephiroth is dead.  Hewley is dead.  Genesis … has deserted.  These events make the public uneasy.”

“Our three most popular and reputedly unbeatable SOLDIERS all gone in quick succession,” the President murmured.  “The public look up to SOLDIER.  Children every year left their homes to come to Midgar, wanting to be just like their great idol Sephiroth.”  He sighed.  “His loss is going to be very damaging to Shinra’s image.”

Finally, Heidegger looked like he understood.  “You’re going to use Fair.”

“Reassurance is very important to our citizens,” the President said.  “Fair was already making a name for himself before he left for Nibelheim, particularly in the aftermath of the attacks on Shinra.  He doesn’t have the same draw as Sephiroth, but he doesn’t need to.  In light of the recent deaths, it’s more important that the public have someone they can relate to.”

“Provided you can trust him,” Heidegger said sourly. 

“That remains to be seen,” the President agreed.  “But I believe we have time to ascertain that.  In the meantime, publicity has already been set in motion in regards to Nibelheim.  He’s already been painted a hero.  From his profile, I daresay Fair will be more than happy to enjoy the publicity.  Being in Midgar with nothing to do for some time will no doubt give him opportunities to shine.”

\---------

The President’s decision was thus:  that Zack would be officially on leave for a minimum period of two months, during which he would be required to report for weekly meetings with a company counsellor.  Tseng walked out of the board room with a directive for the Turks to monitor the First closely until further notice and report back on anything out of the ordinary. 

All in all, it was a better result than the one he’d feared.  Shinra’s desire for good press had been his only real card to play, and despite the President’s indulgent attitude, the man was far more intelligent than most people gave him credit for.  But he was also willing to take a chance.  If Zack was smart enough, he could bask in the spotlight, ride out the investigation, and return back to a normal life.

Better than the alternative.

He stepped out of the elevator onto the dimly lit floor of the Turks’ official headquarters … and stopped.  It shouldn’t have surprised him, he knew.  Zack’s expression as he left the meeting should have given him all the warning he needed.  But this was Turk territory, and to find Zack Fair leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed—

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said evenly.

“Why not?” Zack’s voice was innocent.  His eyes were a fierce blue.  “It’s not like I need a card to get to _this_ floor.”

Tseng rubbed at his eyes.  “You know what I mean, Zack.  You’re not stupid.  To come from a meeting like that—”

“You’re right,” Zack interrupted him.  “I’m not stupid.” 

“Zack—“

“Don’t.”  Zack pushed himself away from the wall to stand in front of Tseng with a tight smile.  “I’m not interested in hearing it, Tseng.  You’re a Turk.  I _get_ it.”

“Then you should go home.”  He winced at how flat his voice sounded.  Zack deserved more than this from him; the hurt in the First’s expression was plain to see.  “I’m sorry,” he added more gently, and turned to leave

Zack’s hand shot out, seizing him roughly by the shoulder.  Tseng froze at the contact.  Gloved fingers clenched tightly in the fabric of his jacket for a moment, then eased their grip enough that he could have pulled free.  Instead, he held himself still, staring stonily down the corridor as Zack looked away from him, shoulders shaking.

He was laughing.  “That’s four times you’ve apologised, Tseng.  I gotta wonder what you think you’re actually apologising for.”

Tseng closed his eyes.

“I just want to know one thing,” Zack said softly.  “You told me … you said … it was too late by the time you got there.”

“…Yes.”

“Which is a lie, isn’t it?” 

_Did you even try?_  Hollow words from the night before. Tseng swallowed.  “No.”

“You were there all along.“

“No.”

The fingers tightened enough to hurt.  “You could have—“

“ _No,_ Zack.”  Tseng’s voice was as gentle as he could manage. 

“But you were—“

“In the area,” he finished.  “I know.  But we weren’t anywhere we could have made a difference.  I promise you that.” 

The fingers loosened, then slid away from his shoulder altogether.  Tseng moved away on reflex, straightening his jacket as he glanced back.  The First was stalking toward the elevators.  “Zack—“

“Forget it,” Zack said coolly, stabbing at the elevator button.  “I believe you.  Just …don’t apologise to me any more.”

Tseng watched him go, wondering if there was anything he could say that would have made any difference - which was ridiculous.  Zack had every right to be angry with him, and logically it was far better for Zack’s sake to keep his distance.  So he kept his silence as the elevator doors closed once more, leaving him alone in the hallway.

_I’m sorry, Zack.  There really was nothing I could do._

He turned on his heel and headed for his office, and wondered wearily why it felt like he was lying to himself.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Playgrounds come in all kinds of sizes.

“Cloud Strife,” Hojo murmured, flicking delicately through the thin file.  “Age sixteen.  Birthplace:  Nibelheim.  That’s interesting.  My condolences.”  He paused for a moment, and then smiled pleasantly.  “Average grades.  One failed attempt at the SOLDIER exam five months ago.  Ah, here it is.  _Though Strife meets all physical requirements of the exam, psychological testing …_ oh, I see.  That is a shame, isn’t it?” 

He glanced up from the file photo to peer at the boy on the examination table.  Weeks of convalescence had served to make his new specimen even thinner, though Hojo had been careful to ensure the boy’s nutrition was adequate.  Combined with the look of frightened confusion on the boy’s face, one could be forgiven for thinking he was even younger than his supposed sixteen years of age. 

Hojo kept his distance for now, waiting as his assistants double-checked the straps holding the boy fast before applying the heart sensors and running preliminary tests.  They were absolutely professional in their work, yet Cloud flinched every time they touched him, trying futilely to pull back from a simple effort to monitor his pulse.  The blue eyes were wide and fixed on Hojo, and the scientist gave the boy an amused look.  The sedatives would still be wearing off, he knew; their lingering effects wouldn’t make this any easier.

If it weren’t for the fact that the Turks had confirmed it, Hojo would never have given credence to the idea that the blond cadet – this child – had been the one to kill Sephiroth.  The fact that Cloud was originally from Nibelheim, however … the death of everything and everyone he knew had probably served as a catalyst.  He supposed great grief and anger could allow even the weakest of mice to overthrow the cat.  Certainly, there was no strength in the boy now.  Hojo rather doubted the straps were even necessary; though the wounds from Masamune had healed enough for experiments to begin, Dr Grey’s report had shown that Cloud had only just managed to regain his feet.  But restraints served more than one purpose in the lab, and fear would only serve to make the specimen more viable for what he had in mind.

“You’re a comparatively fast healer, Code C,” he said, approaching as the technicians moved away.  He watched the blue eyes register confusion at the label and allowed himself a smirk.  “Certainly, you don’t look very resilient.  Appearances can be deceiving, hmm?  I suppose it’s that mountain blood in you.” 

The boy just stared at him.  Hojo gave a soft snort and moved past the head of the table, pleased to see the slight body stiffen as he moved out of Cloud’s line of vision.  The boy might be bewildered as to why he was here, but his survival instincts were certainly hard at work.  To begin with, however – at least for a short time – he was willing to allay some of the boy’s confusion.  It would help, after all, in gaining clear answers of his own before he commenced.

“My name is Professor Hojo.”  He took the chart proffered by an assistant and stepped back into line of sight, reading through the statistics with an air of disinterest.  “Hmm, blood pressure is still low, I see.  I suppose that’s to be expected.  You owe your life to me, Code C, did you know?”

Predictably, the boy kept his silence.  Or perhaps he was too terrified to speak; it hardly mattered.  Hojo smiled thinly as he skimmed the last of the preliminaries, then turned to meet that wide, blue gaze.  “Well?  Sephiroth didn’t cut your tongue out, did he?” 

The boy shook his head slightly and then swallowed visibly and closed his eyes. 

“The dizziness will pass,” Hojo said, more from a desire to watch his specimen’s reactions than to give any real comfort.  He reached out to run his hand lightly across the newly formed scar tissue just below the boy’s ribs, thumb tracing the edge of the healing injuries left from Sephiroth’s sword.  Still quite fragile.  Cloud went rigid under his touch, and Hojo chuckled softly at the tension that knotted the boy’s stomach muscles.  He withdrew his hand.  “While we’re waiting for the last of the sedative to flush from your system, you will answer some questions for me.”

“When--” The voice was almost too soft to be heard, hoarse from disuse.  The boy swallowed once more and tried again, still barely above a whisper.  “When can I go home?”

Hojo raised an eyebrow at that.  Surely, the boy couldn’t be _that_ naïve.  He saw the truth in the boy’s face – the odd mix of hope and dread and something else that he couldn’t quite place, though it seemed faintly familiar – and he smiled humourlessly.  “I believe you already know the answer to that question, Code C.”

“Not…” The boy’s eyebrows furrowed.  “I’m—“

“No one,” he interrupted smoothly.  “And if you ever want to be more than that again, I suggest you be still and answer my questions.”  He gestured to the door with a flick of his fingers, paying scant attention as his assistants vacated the room and left them in privacy.  He didn’t need them for what came next – and here, at the very beginning, Hojo would not delegate this procedure to anyone else.  It was only a pity that he hadn’t managed to procure the other one as well …but it changed very little, in the end.

“Thirty-six days for you to recover to this extent,” he muttered.  “I suppose a Cure would have hurried things along, but no matter.  Data is data.  Are you aware of how you were injured?”  At the boy’s slow nod, he turned away, laying the stats chart to rest on the bench.  “Do you have any breathing difficulties?”

“No.”  The boy’s voice had flattened into soft defeat.  Hojo glanced back to find Cloud was no longer watching him.  Instead, his gaze had settled on the wall, his face blank. 

Hojo studied him curiously for a moment, then turned his attention back to the bench.  Clear plastic snapped away from the syringe.  “Any pain?”

“…some.”

Hojo smiled indulgently.  “What a cooperative little specimen you are.  Dull or sharp?  Rated on a scale of one to ten.”

“U-um…dull.”  There was a quaver to the voice, now.  Hojo kept his amusement to himself.   Apparently, the boy was merely trying to be brave.  “It doesn’t hurt when I stay still.”

“And when you don’t?”

“Why does it—“

“Precaution.”  Irritation shaped his next words into cruelty.  “Wounds of this nature are fragile, especially when caused by this particular weapon.  You appear to have healed adequately, but there is always the possibility that enough thrashing on your part will reopen them.  It would be inconvenient.” 

Hojo smirked at the sharp intake of breath, and pretended he couldn’t hear the soft sounds of the boy testing the straps.  “It’s in your best interest to keep as still as you can today, Code C,” he added after a moment.  “Now, answer the question.”

The silence drew out.  He was patient now, carefully preparing the first and then the second hypodermic and laying them on the medical trolley while he let the boy wrestle with his panic.  To his credit, he hadn’t dissolved into pleading yet.  Beyond a few shaky breaths and attempts to free himself, the boy was remarkably quiet.  Hojo approved, in his own way.  A silent experiment was a less distracting one.

Finally, the boy stilled entirely.  Hojo turned to lean against the bench to stare at the pale face, hands tucked into the pockets of his lab coat.  His smile was almost friendly.  “Well?”

The boy bit his lip.  Hojo chuckled.  “One to ten,” he prompted.

“…five?”

“Very good.”  Five was manageable.  “Any pain elsewhere?”

“No,” the boy whispered.

“No pins and needles?”

“No.”

“You say you remember how you were injured.  Clearly?”  The boy winced, and he chuckled again.  “I presume so.  Tell me what happened.”

If the boy was confused at the change in questioning, he didn’t show it.  Instead, he sucked in a careful breath as if steeling himself.  “Sephiroth stabbed me.”

“Impaled is the more accurate term,” he noted idly, and smirked as he watched fingers curl into fists.  “What else?”

Blue eyes blinked at him.  “Sir?”

Hojo gave an impatient huff.  “What happened _after_ he impaled you?”

“I don’t…” The boy trailed off, looking at him uncertainly.  “He fell.  Into the mako.”

“I know that,” he snapped.  “The lack of a corpse makes it evident, boy.”  As did the fact that Sephiroth would never have left his sword behind.  They’d found it on the catwalk past the stairs in a pool of blood, and the small, crimson handprints and drag marks nearby had made it clear that Sephiroth hadn’t been the one to pull it free of that terrible wound.  It took courage to do that, Hojo would freely admit … but also a great deal of stupidity, when one considered how much damage inexperienced hands could do when removing such a weapon.  It was a wonder the boy hadn’t killed himself.  “What happened in between?”

“I don’t understand.” 

“Obviously.”

“Then—“

“General Sephiroth,” Hojo said, watching him closely as he advanced on the table, “Was the most skilled, the most brutal SOLDIER to ever grace the halls of Shinra.  He was the first.  He has never been beaten.  _You_ were a lowly grunt with barely adequate training.”  He was gratified to see the boy flinch.  “And yet somehow, you managed to best him – _after_ he ran you through.”

It was amusing how the boy pressed himself against the restraints in a vain attempt to pull away from his touch.  Hojo reached out and jabbed with one finger at the fresh scars, and was rewarded with a faint hiss of pain.  “Here.  And here.  He missed your heart _and_ your spine, Code C, on both strikes.  How lucky you are, hmm?  But nevertheless, the damage was extensive.  You wouldn’t have survived without my intervention.  I must confess I fail to see how you could then go on to kill him, and I greatly dislike such gaps in my information.  I am a _scientist._ ”

The boy’s eyes were frightened again now, the hunch to his shoulders pronounced as if he were trying to curl up on the table.  “I’m – I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”  He gave a snort.  “Ridiculous.  What do you have to apologise for?  I merely want to know how it was done.”

Oddly, the boy looked away from him, biting his lip once more.  Hojo frowned.  _Shame?_   Perhaps the boy was unwilling to credit himself with the victory.  It would fit in keeping with his psychological profile.  A pathetic excuse for a recruit and a clear failure as a potential SOLDIER candidate; perfect for Hojo’s needs.  Or … no _._ There was another possibility, and a rather viable one. 

Of course.  He should have thought of this before.  The mouse would have been _much_ too weak on his own.  He smiled. 

“Did Lieutenant Fair help you?”

The boy’s gaze snapped back to him in wide-eyed shock.  _Ah._

“From his position on the stairs,” Hojo said easily, sure he was on the right track now, “I doubt the good Lieutenant helped you kill him.  But he clearly fought Sephiroth first, hmm?  His injuries were quite severe, but Fair is an excellent swordsman from all reports.  Perhaps Sephiroth was already quite damaged when you found him?” 

The boy’s face had paled to bone white.  Hojo grinned at the expression of utter …panic?  Bewilderment?  Either way, he’d clearly struck a nerve.  He lifted a hand to pat the boy’s head in a mock gesture of reassurance, and noticed with interest that he was barely paid attention to. 

“There’s no shame in having an advantage against a superior opponent, I’m sure.  But I’m losing patience now, Code C.”

The boy mouthed something inaudibly, gaze drifting unfocused.  Hojo sighed with annoyance.  He was considering other means of persuasion when the boy took a breath and shifted minutely on the table, blue eyes meeting his with a surprising calmness that hadn’t been there before.  Nevertheless, the boy swallowed nervously before speaking, his words hesitant. 

“Where’s Zack?”

Hojo blinked.  Then he narrowed his eyes.  “I’m out of patience, boy.  Answer my question.”

Absurdly, the boy smiled.  It was fleeting; there and gone again in an instant, but Hojo read the relief in the boy’s face and realised that he’d clearly been under the impression that Fair was dead.  He felt a faint irritation that he’d somehow alleviated the boy’s fear - but in the end, what did it matter?  Fair may as well be dead, for all the help he would be able to offer to the cadet.  After all, Fair was under the carefully misguided impression that he was the only survivor.

“Now,” he snapped.

“Where’s Zack?”  The boy’s voice was firm, now, despite the faint trembling Hojo could see in his loosely fisted hands.  Still terrified.  He shouldn’t have had the courage to demand _anything_.  Hojo stared down at him with curiosity that was at odds with his rising anger.  He hadn’t expected this.  It was rather fascinating. 

“Are you trying to bargain with me?” he asked mildly.

A shudder ran through the boy at that, and he closed his eyes.  But his mouth twisted into stubbornness.  Hojo broke into a chuckle. 

“Lieutenant Fair returned to Midgar,” he said, voice kind.  “Alive and quite healthy, I believe.” 

It was all he needed to get the boy’s focus back, of course.  Cloud shifted to stare at him again, eyes betraying a wary hopefulness that made Hojo smile, his lips curling back as he continued.  “He’s even been in the paper.  I could show you if you like.  _Zack Fair, saviour of Nibelheim._ I suppose that was technically you, but he certainly hasn’t mentioned that part.  In fact,” he said with relish, watching the boy’s face closely, “I don’t believe he’s asked after you at all.  Do you think, perhaps, that forgetting you is the price for his new fame?”

He was still smiling as the hopeful look crumbled into uneasiness; further still into a familiar, dull hurt.

Then he leaned forward to place his palm flat to the scarred torso and _pushed._

The boy jerked against the straps with a strangled cry, his fingertips scrabbling uselessly for purchase on the stainless steel as he convulsed under the steady pressure of Hojo’s touch.  He only screamed once.  Teeth sank into his lower lip with a violence that made Hojo frown, but he said nothing.  Did nothing; kept his hand there, firm and in place against the tender scarring and waited impassively. 

Once the struggles had subsided to violent shuddering, he met the boy’s agony-filled gaze.  “You don’t bargain with me, Code C,” he said evenly.  “You don’t refuse to answer my questions.  You don’t ask questions.  You don’t _speak_ unless I give you permission.  Do you understand?”

The boy nodded. There was blood on his lip now.  He took a shaky breath.  “Please--”

“You’re not _listening_ ,” he snapped, palm driving down further.  The boy broke off, eyes clenching shut as a whimper escaped him.  Hojo eased back after a moment, anger appeased somewhat by the tears of pain that he could see sliding down the boy’s cheeks.  “I thought you were brave, boy, but perhaps you are merely stupid.  Only a fool would antagonise me in your position.”

This time there was no response; the only sound the uneven, hitching gasps as the boy struggled not to cry.  Hojo watched him for a few more moments, then made a faint noise of approval and took his hand away.   If the next gasp sounded suspiciously like a sob, he made no comment on it.  The boy could have hysterics all he liked, provided it didn’t interfere with his work. 

“I’ll ask my questions another day, Code C.”  He took hold of the boy’s arm remarkably gently, now, swabbing the inner elbow with disinfectant.  “I doubt you’d give me particularly coherent answers at this juncture.  Now.  If you’ll behave, this round won’t take long at all.

He didn’t bother to explain himself past that; only smiled thinly when the boy opened his eyes to watch him.  The gaze only shifted when Hojo lifted the first hypodermic from the trolley and flicked his fingernails against the syringe.  Cloud stared at it with a frozen expression. Then he swallowed and turned away to stare bleakly at the ceiling. 

Sickly green, most people called the colour of mako. 

Hojo thought it was beautiful.

\---------

Fame, Zack had long since decided, was a pain in the ass. 

It wasn’t as if he had people mobbing him in the streets.  It was more the sidelong stares he got on the upper plate, where people saw him and recognised him and then trailed him along the road.  The shopkeepers were even worse, because Zack tended to smile at them once and they’d be offering all kinds of things to him at such a ludicrous discount he sometimes found himself haggling the price _up_ instead of down.  Planet help him if he stopped to actually have a conversation with anyone, because he’d find more and more people drifting up to try and offer their own opinions, or interject, or just ... be there and stare at him.  In his better moods, he wondered with a pang of sympathy what Seph’d had to deal with, because the so-called Silver General and Demon of Wutai would have had it so much worse. 

Zack’s spotlight was tiny in comparison, but it was growing bigger.  It took him a while to work out that the President grounding him in Midgar was only partly to keep an eye on him.  On extended leave, he didn’t have much to do except hang out and be visible to the public, and that was really enough to keep his reputation growing.  And he didn’t _mind_ drawing attention; he’d always been kind of a people person anyway … but gods be honest, it would be nice to have his privacy back again.

He’d have minded even less if he actually deserved any of it.  Or if he wasn’t being watched.  Tseng was being polite about it, and Zack spent a lot of his days aware that he was being afforded as much privacy as the Turks could really give him … and the fact that Reno had sat down next to him the other day at a café by the Sector 5 station and bitterly complained that Zack never ate anywhere interesting was a nice touch.  Tseng wasn’t stupid and neither was Zack, and there was no point to either of them pretending Zack _wasn’t_ being spied on.  So Zack never mentioned it, and sometimes Reno tried to steal his lunch.  Fair trade.  But being under surveillance meant Zack was always on show, and whether or not Tseng was making detailed reports back to Heidegger, he knew that any deviation from the person he’d been before Nibelheim would eventually show up on the desk of someone who mattered.  Which meant that when he drew attention on the street, he grinned at people and bantered back and forth and made them laugh and let them take photos, because Zack Fair had _always_ wanted to be a hero.

Which made the whole fame thing even more of a pain in the ass, because he’d never felt like a bigger liar in his life.

After a while, he spent most of his time down in the slums, and most of that with Aerith.  People on the lower plate were genuinely friendly with him most days – they’d grown used to him in the company of the flower girl, and if they remembered him for anything it was that he’d been actively clearing out some of the monsters in the worst part of the slums for months now.  But more importantly, the people who lived there understood the value of personal space, and more often than not would leave him alone with nothing more than a welcoming smile.  That, he could live with.  And he was doing the Turks a favour, right?  This way, Tseng could have both of them watched at the same time.  Saved on manpower all round. 

He smiled wryly at that idea.  Tseng hadn’t spoken to him much since the debriefing, and Zack was also okay with that, though his anger at the Turk had long since died.  But things were still uncomfortable between them.  Tseng clearly knew more about Nibelheim than he was telling – than he was allowed to tell – and maybe it was better that the two of them weren’t seen to be friendly anyway.  And grudgingly, guiltily, Zack knew damn well Tseng wouldn’t have let Cloud die on the stairs if he’d been able to do anything to save him.

At least, that’s what he thought until the day Aerith’s flower wagon broke, and it suddenly became very clear that Tseng had _lied._

\---------

“Blackie?”

“He doesn’t have black fur.”

“Spot.”

Laughter.  “Zack, you’re not even trying!”

“I am so.  Umm… Screwdriver.”

“You want to call him _Screwdriver_?”

“No.  But I could really use one right about--” 

Aerith’s foot landed squarely on Zack’s shoulder and shoved him forward, and he caught himself on the edge of the wagon and gave her a reproachful look as she giggled at him, legs swinging over the edge of the playground slide.  “I’m not kidding!  This is kinda hard without one.”

“It’s okay,” she said lightly.  “I don’t mind.  Besides, it’s light for you, right?  I’ll just get you to carry it home.”

“Slave driver,” he muttered.  But he grinned at her all the same before slouching down cross-legged in front of the wagon.  The damage wasn’t too bad.  The wheel had cracked and would need replacing, but at least it would still function for a while longer – if he could coax the damn thing into cooperating.  The axle itself was the main problem.  He had a sneaking suspicion that it was _his_ fault the axle had practically broken in half.  Which was why he was sitting here and sheepishly trying to fix it, although bare hands could only do so much…

“You’re the one who tried surfing on my flower wagon, Zack Fair.”  Delicate toes nudged him between the shoulder blades, and he heard the huff of her quiet laughter.  “You’ve only got yourself to blame.”

“Well, you know.  Part of my cunning plan to strand us out here at sunset, right?  It’s very romantic.”

“Not that we can see the sunset where we are.”

“Hey!” He tipped his head back to pout at her.  “It’s the _thought_ that counts.”

At least the flowers had sold completely today, which meant he didn’t feel so bad about upending the wagon on its side to get at the undercarriage.  And to be honest, it was kind of nice to be sitting here in the little playground after most people had gone home; more or less just the two of them.  Aerith was content to perch on the slide and watch him make … well, more of a mess of things.  And for his part, being able to rest his head back against her shins and grin at her was fun. 

Though it was probably just as well her skirt wasn’t any shorter.  Not that Zack would _mind_ , but getting slapped wasn’t high on his list of priorities right now—

“Do you think he has a preference?” she asked thoughtfully.

He shrugged.  “No clue.  I’m not really sure how the whole thing works.”

“He likes you.”

Zack shifted uncomfortably.  He didn’t want to think about it.  “He likes you too.  It’s your church he’s staying in.”

“But he’s protecting me for _you_ ,” she pointed out. 

He paused.  That Aerith would say something like that was no longer a surprise to him – though he hadn’t really taken much notice, he had to admit, until after his vacation at Costa Del Sol, and Cissnei’s confession to him of just _why_ Aerith was being watched.  Zack didn’t know what an Ancient was meant to be, and he didn’t really want to pry – Aerith would tell him eventually when she was ready, right? – but he figured it had more than a little to do with just _knowing_ things like that. 

_That little one …somehow seems so sad._

He never doubted her, either.  Which surprised him, in a way, but he also didn’t mind.  He liked that about her, too.

“Zack?”

“Don’t know,” he said easily, shifting his hands so she couldn’t see what he was doing.  _Fixing the axle, that’s right.  Not making it worse, not in the slightest…_ “I’m really not that good at naming stuff.  Why don’t you pick something?”

“I won’t be any good at it.”

He snickered.  “You’re bound to come up with something better than Screwdriver.”

“I don’t think I’ve _ever_ named anything,” she pointed out.  “I keep trying to think of names and I just come up with different flowers.  I don’t think he’d appreciate being called something like … well, Daffodil.”

Hearing that conjured up images of Angeal with bright yellow flowers woven into his hair and a seriously offended expression.  Zack nearly choked.  “Uh … definitely not.”

“You see?”  She was laughing at him again.  “I think flowers suit girls better.  So we’re both lousy at this.”

“Could be worse.”  He was conscious of someone watching them, but he didn’t look up.  The playground was on the edge of the gates into Sector 7, after all; people were passing by them all the time.  He was popular, Aerith was pretty.  He’d have been surprised if they _didn’t_ attract attention.  “I guess he’s just hard to name.  After all…” He frowned.  “He’s not exactly a pet.  I kinda feel he deserves better.”

Aerith’s hands came down to rest heavily on his shoulders, and he looked up to find her leaning over him with a smile.  The long wisps of her lovelocks tickled his nose.  “You’ll think of something, Zack.  I don’t think he’s offended.”

He grinned.  “Not yet, but give it time.”

She lifted an eyebrow.  “Speaking of time, are you done trying to fix my wagon?  I’m not sure what they teach you up in that building, but ‘hide the damage and hope it magically goes away’ doesn’t really work.”

“It might!” But he dropped his hands away sheepishly as she giggled and hopped down beside him, brushing her skirt down.  She held out her hand to him and he took it, standing up easily.  “Er, but seriously.  Sorry?  I’ll try again when I get it…”

He trailed off.  Aerith was smiling at him, tilting her head in faint puzzlement as he stared.  Over her shoulder, in the distance past a strolling couple in their thirties and a middle-aged drunk, he could just see the girl leaning against the thick metal of the open Sector 7 gate, arms folded across her stomach.  She wouldn’t have caught his gaze at all but for the hair; long, thick and rich brown, it touched off memories he’d been trying so hard to forget. 

She was thinner.  Paler, too.  But she was still wearing the same little skirt and cowboy boots, though far more worn than before.  And she was staring at them both – no, at _him_ – with eyes that burned with contempt and accusation and—

_Shit._  

“Tifa,” he breathed. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zack, Tifa, and an alleyway. 
> 
> ...well, context is overrated.

The last Zack had seen of Tifa, she’d been a broken mess.  Reckless to try charging Sephiroth with a sword she didn’t even know how to use, but her father had been dead outside the reactor and there was no way in hell he thought of her as stupid for that.  She’d been angry with him then, too; lashing out at him, hurting so much because he and Sephiroth had come to Nibelheim and destroyed everything in their wake.  He hadn’t stopped to make excuses to her then.  He wouldn’t hide behind them now.

The fact that she was _alive_ , though, kept him frozen to the spot, gaping at her with shock as he tried to process that Tseng had either lied to him or had made a mistake.  And Turks didn’t _make_ mistakes like that; how could they have missed one critically injured girl? 

Tifa shifted on her feet, her eyes sliding away from him just as he felt a soft touch on his chest, and he tore his gaze away to glance down.  Aerith was frowning at him in concern.  “Zack?” 

He nodded distractedly.  “Yeah, babe.  Look, uh … I gotta—“ 

Then he broke off as Tifa spun on her heel without warning and bolted through the gates.  _Damn it, don’t—_ He paused long enough to take Aerith by the shoulders and plant a kiss on her forehead, and he flashed an apologetic smile at her.  “I’ll be right back.” 

“But—“

“I’ll explain later!” he yelled back to her, already running for the Sector 7 entrance.   Tifa was almost out of sight, slipping deftly between the slum dwellers with an ease that he wouldn’t have expected from a country girl, but then he had no idea how long she’d been in Midgar. 

_Couldn’t have been long.  It’s only been a couple months, and she was hurt, and – and – what the_ hell _is she doing here?_ He started to close the gap; legs longer and SOLDIER-trained, and by the looks of things she’d only just recovered, so it was only a matter of time.  He had to warn her at least, even if she refused to listen to anything else he said.  If the Turks didn’t already know about her, Tifa coming here would just put her on their radar—

_Like you’re doing?_

The stray thought was enough to stop him in his tracks, and he swore at himself.  _Fair, you stupid, stupid_ asshole.  _You’re being_ watched _by said Turks.  Way to go!_

Too late.  With a wince, he realised it didn’t matter anyway; they’d have noticed her the second she started sending him death glares in the playground.  It didn’t make him feel any better … but the damage was done either way.  Zack gritted his teeth and pushed through the gawking onlookers as politely as he could, looking for the telltale length of rich brown hair in the distance, and cursed again when he realised she’d taken advantage of his hesitation and vanished.

Hell with it.  He wasn’t going to just leave now that he was here.  She couldn’t have gone far.  Zack slowed down to a trot, offering a friendly smile now to the people who stared at him, and wasn’t surprised when they regarded him with wariness instead.  Popular in the slums he might be, but he’d run in here clearly chasing one of _them._ But they didn’t stop him.  He was glad for that.  He shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to look as harmless as possible.  Maybe, if he was _very_ lucky, the Turks wouldn’t have followed him in here and instead stayed at the playground to keep an eye on Aerith…

He hadn’t been lucky, lately.

_Always a first time for everything, right?_

He made it to the end of the street and paused; under the quiet conversations of the people walking past and the rattle of a wagon nearby, he heard the harsh gasping of someone clearly fighting to get their breath back.  Zack considered a moment, then took several steps backward to peer into a nearby alleyway.  Nothing but a line of bins visible.  Easy enough to hide behind, however.  He winced.  This wasn’t going to be a good conversation for either of them. 

He stepped into the alleyway, picking his way through the debris past the line of trash cans, stopping in front of the figure crouched on the ground, and hesitated as he saw her hands curl into fists at his presence.  She might have been hiding from him … but Tifa certainly wasn’t afraid of him. 

“Hey,” he said softly.

Between one ragged breath and the next, her glare had snapped from his knees up to his face, and he nearly took a step backward from the sheer fury he saw there.  Instead, Zack raised both hands in a gesture of peace, and then cringed.  _Patronising much, Fair?_

Before he could say anything more, she shot to her feet, one hand fisted in the front of the loose white t-shirt she was wearing.  Zack took in the gesture and the fact that she was still breathing hard, and moved fast as she turned to bolt again, thrusting an arm against the wall to block her escape.  “Don’t.  Please.”

“Move,” she snapped.

“Tifa--”

She ducked under the arm and made a run for it, and he made the mistake of lunging after her, one hand closing over her wrist.  “No, _wait_ —“

Really, he shouldn’t have been surprised by the punch.  He distinctly _remembered_ a conversation with Zangan about Tifa, but hearing it and experiencing it were two different things, and the sudden impact of her fist crashing into his jaw was enough that he nearly staggered straight into the wall, shaking his head to clear the sudden stars in his vision. 

_Ow.  OW._  But he didn’t let go of her hand.  “Tif—“

She punched him again.  His teeth snapped together on her name, and Zack narrowed his eyes, bringing his free hand up to catch her fist as she tried a third time.  She was impressivelyfast.  He was SOLDIER.  “ _Stop_ that.”

“Let _go_!”

“Promise not to punch me for at least five minutes and I will.”

“I could kick you instead,” she challenged.

Zack let her go, cupping his face.  His jaw _hurt._ “Look, just five minutes.  We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” 

But she didn’t run.  Zack eyed her warily as he took a step back.  “If there’s nothing to talk about, why did you come find me?”

Tifa gave a short laugh, bitterly angry.  “You were there on my way home.  What?  Everyone else stares at you, why can’t I?”

“That’s not—“

“Zack Fair, saviour of Nibelheim, was it?” She overrode him, voice bright and brittle.  “What exactly did you save?  Nibelheim _burned down,_ Zack!”

He flinched.  “Keep it down.”

“Why?” she snapped.  “Afraid your reputation will get destroyed?  I should yell it from the rooftops.”

“You won’t,” he said quietly.  “You’re not that stupid.”

Tifa stared at him, eyes burning as she opened her mouth, and then shut it again, arms shifting again to fold across her stomach.  The white t-shirt was too big for her, and didn’t really go with the miniskirt and the cowboy boots.  He had a fair idea why she was wearing it, though.  Zack settled his weight on the closed trash can behind him and watched her silently, letting her make the next move.  She was still two seconds away from running.  Either that, or two seconds away from trying to punch him again.  He’d rather not have to deal with either.

“Five minutes,” she said at last, voice flat.  “Then I’m hitting you again.”

He’d almost think she was joking.  Zack quirked a wistful smile.  “Is that five minutes from now?  Because, you know—“

“Don’t,” she said curtly. “I’m not in the mood.  Just say what you came to say.”

“You’re…”  And then he stopped.  Now she’d agreed to listen, the words had gone right out of his head.  Zack stared at her, and then lifted a hand to run through his hair with an awkward look.  “I’m glad you … you’re not…”  _Idiot.  Moron.  Try again, you retard._ “…you’re okay.”

“Define ‘okay’.”

He winced.  “Well, you’re alive.  That’s a start.  I didn’t think anyone had survived …that.”

She gave him a tight smile.  “Sorry to disappoint.”

“That’s not fair, Tifa.”

“And you didn’t _save_ me, either.”

“Never said I did,” he said shortly, temper beginning to fray despite his best intentions.  “Look, can we pretend for a second that the papers say I’m a total asshole and go from there?  Because this is gonna get old real fast.” 

She glared back at him, folded arms hitching higher across her chest in a way that suggested she was having second thoughts about not hitting him.  He sighed.  “I guess you don’t want to hear this from me, but I really am glad to see you’re okay.  In a sense.”   Her eyebrows shot up at that, and he shook his head.  “You _know_ what I mean.  But Shinra is under the impression there aren’t any survivors.  Did … uh...” He broke off, mouth twisting.  “I’m not sure how to put this—“

“I don’t know how,” she said abruptly.  “I woke up in Midgar.”

“Ah.  So you don’t know if—“

“I don’t see why it’s any of your business how I got here anyway.”  She turned on her heel.  “I’m here.  I’m okay.  Happy?  So now you’ve checked on me, you can go report in or something, right?”

“Oh for—“  He bolted upright as she started to stalk away.  “I’m not the enemy, Tifa!”

She rounded on him, fists clenched.  “What am I _supposed_ to think?”

“You—“

“You come to our town and burn it down—“

“That was—“

“And kill my father – _he_ kills my father,” and her voice was getting dangerously high again, shaking in its fury, “And I can’t _stop_ him, and everyone else dies and when it’s all over, _you’re_ being called the hero?  And Sephiroth – he – you—“ She broke off with a helpless sweep of one arm, eyes wild with rage.  “Sephiroth’s a martyr now?  How does that even work?   _He killed them all!”_

“Politics.  Keep your voice _down_.”

“No, really?” She laughed at him.  _Laughed._  “Protecting his reputation too, huh?”

Temper flared.  She wasn’t being Gaia-damned _fair._ “I don’t write the fucking papers!” he hissed. 

“But you pose for the cameras, don’t you?” she spat back.  “Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying yourself!”

He blinked, taken aback. “Have you been _spying_ on me?”

“You’re pretty hard to miss.  You’re down here all the time.”  She closed the distance, face inches from his, and the amount of hatred he could see in her eyes was like a kick to the chest.  “Maybe you should sign a photo for me, huh?” she said bitterly.  “There was this really nice one with you and me and _him—“_

Oh, that _hurt._ He took a breath, trying to speak to her without snarling.  “Tifa--”

“Are we done?”

“No, we’re—“

“Because I think we are.”  She lifted her chin.  “I didn’t die.  And I know the paper is full of lies. So sorry if that makes me a _problem_ or something, but you don’t have to—“

“Can I get a word in edgewise?” He was _trying_ to stay calm.  He wasn’t sure he was really succeeding.  “Because that’d be kinda nice.”

“One.” 

“You’re not—“

“More than one.”

_Oh, for--_ He threw his hands up in exasperation, anger tinging his voice despite his best efforts.  “What are you, _ten_?”

“I’m fifteen,” she snapped.  “Not a child.  I just don’t have _time_ for this.”

“You promised me five minutes.  _Please._   Just ...”  He broke off, frustrated.  “Look, I swear to you, SOLDIER’s honour:  I’m not here to cause you trouble.  I’m trying to look out for you!”

She sneered.  “Oh, really?  Like you did in—“

He moved before he could stop himself, fist smashing into the fence over the dustbins.  Tifa flinched, eyes wide and staring as Zack fought to reign his temper in.  He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until she was too damned _sick_ to keep yelling at him, and he knew that wasn’t fair.  But she wasn’t giving him a fucking _chance._

_It’s not her fault.  It’s not.  She’s too young and she’s lost too much and she can’t handle it. That’s all it is.  But—_

“Zack?”

He glanced up at her, and was surprised to find she’d taken half a step forward, one hand stretched out hesitantly before she let it drop to her side.  It was enough.  Maybe she didn’t hate him entirely.

“I know you’re hurting, okay?” he said quietly.  “And yeah, you can blame me for a lot of it, but I’ll repeat this as many times as I have to.  _I’m not your enemy_.   We didn’t come to Nibelheim knowing what was going to happen, okay?  And Shinra—“ 

He stopped.  Ranting about Shinra here and now would just get them _both_ killed.  He was pretty damn sure Tseng had pulled strings to save his life, but he wasn’t sure that any such protection would stretch to denouncing the company they both worked for on the streets.  If he were lucky enough, Tifa’s presence down here _might_ be ignored – at least long enough for him to get her out of Midgar.

… _there I go with that whole ‘luck’ thing again..._

Tifa eyed him with a frown.  “What about Shinra?”

At least she was listening to him, now.  Zack shook his head.  “I shouldn’t go into that.”  He held up a hand as she started to object.  “But listen.  It’s really not safe for you here in Midgar.  I honestly don’t know how much of a threat you’d be considered, but you should leave.” 

There.  He’d said it.  And Tifa was looking more thoughtful than angry now, hugging herself gently in the alleyway as she watched him.  Probably trying to work out whether he was worth listening to.  He fought down the urge to give her a smile – a Zack puppy smile of _please?_ to try and convince her on her way – and instead just waited under her scrutiny quietly and hoped that she had the sense not to ask _why._

Eventually, her shoulders slumped and the anger went out of her face completely, and she turned away from him to lean against the fence.  “I can’t leave, Zack,” she said wearily.  “Where am I meant to go?”

He sighed.  “Tifa—“

“Zangan brought me here, I think.”

“Zangan?” He was confused for a second, until he realised she was just answering his earlier question.  Some of the tension went out of his shoulders.  Making peace was a good sign, right?  “Is he here, too?”

Tifa shook her head.  “I don’t know where he is.  I wasn’t … awake for the trip.”  She looked away.  “He left me with a doctor.  But you know, Zangan moves a lot.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Why?” she asked.

_For a lot of things, maybe?_ Zack ran a hand over his face.  He could start apologising and he’d be here all day.  “Waking up here without anyone you know,” he said finally, giving her an awkward smile. 

“I understand, though.”  She shrugged.  “And he got me out of there.  That’s enough.”

He hesitated.  “How is your … uh …you know—“

Her hand shifted to grip the fabric of her t-shirt again. “It’s healed.” 

“You’re still recovering though, huh?”

“I’ll get there.”

“Listen, Tifa—“

She cut him off, lifting her gaze to peer at him.  “If you’d been up at the reactor, would you have saved my father?”

Zack sucked in a breath, going quiet.  _Oh, kiddo.  It hurts, doesn’t it?_ What kind of answer could he give to a question like that?  To fight Sephiroth inside _or_ outside the reactor; the outcome would have been the same either way.

_I’m not a hero.  I’m sorry.  But…_

“…I’d have tried.”

She was silent for a long time, face expressionless as she studied him.  She didn’t burst into tears or scream at him or turn and walk away.  Zack took a breath and reigned in his impulse to say more – to try and explain, to apologise.  He risked a glance toward the mouth of the alleyway and saw the shifting figures of passersby; nobody paying any attention to them.  Which was impressive, given how much they’d been screaming at each other.  He wondered wryly if maybe people down here were just used to that sort of thing.

And then, Tifa surprised him.  She laughed; low and soft and humourless, but nevertheless.  “Yeah,” she murmured.  “Yeah.  I guess you would have.”  

And she smiled, a sad curve of her lips that nearly made his knees buckle in relief.  She trusted him.  Zack exhaled heavily, finally daring to offer her another smile.  “You still gonna hit me when we’re done?”

“I’m thinking about it,” she said dryly.  “You’ve got a minute left.”

“Thanks _so_ much.”  But he chuckled, shaking his head a little before he became serious.  “Look … I know you don’t think you have anywhere to go, but Midgar isn’t – it’s not a nice place.  Especially not here in the slums.” 

She shrugged.  “Everyone else has to make do.”

“Everyone else doesn’t come from Nibelheim,” he countered, and was gratified to see her wince as that sank in.  “There’s a really nice little town near here called Kalm – it wouldn’t take long to get—“

“I can’t leave here, Zack.”

He blinked, and then gave her an encouraging smile.  “Sure you can.  You can even leave directly from the slums, I know where the—“

“No,” she said firmly.  “I’m serious.  I can’t.  And it should be okay, right?  I mean, you’re not gonna report me.”

“Well, no.”  He was baffled.  Why she’d choose a cesspool like Midgar over Kalm – a really _nice_ town, which was damned miraculous given how close it really was to this place – was beyond him.  Something was up.  “You’re totally safe from me,” he assured her absently, and then grinned.  “Unless you try blowing up a reactor or something – uh, but that’s not the issue.  Eventually, someone’s gonna notice you.  If they haven’t already.”  He scratched his head and glanced back to the street again with a quiet sigh. “If they didn’t five minutes ago.”

“What do you mean?”

“…Uh.  Yeah.”  He smiled sheepishly.  “ _I’m_ kinda being watched.”

Tifa gave him a funny look.  “So you chased after me?” she asked slowly.

“Well, technically you started this…”

She opened her mouth and shut it, and finally stared nervously at the mouth of the alleyway herself.  “So am I in trouble?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted, and hurried on as her gaze swung back sharply to his.  “But that’s why I want you to leave.  As soon as you can.”

“Why don’t you know?  Didn’t you say if—“

“Look, I’m not…”  He trailed off.  How _did_ he explain this?  _Well, they may or may not have followed me here, but that doesn’t really matter as they may or may not have known you were here anyway. Either way, they may or may not decide to do something about it depending on any number of factors, including how good a day Tseng is having…_  He grinned despite himself.  “It’s complicated?”

“I might be in trouble, but I might not?”  Tifa arched an eyebrow.  “What, does Shinra flip a coin before arresting someone?”

“They might do,” he muttered, thinking of Reno.

“You’re joking.”

“Not exactly.”  He snorted.  “Not enough, anyway.  Will you leave?”

“I can’t.” 

He ran a hand through his hair and heaved a frustrated sigh.  “Okay, pertinent question:  _why_ won’t you leave?  You can’t be happy down here.”

Tifa bit her lip and glanced away.  “I’m looking for someone.  It’s very important.”

“Who?”

It was a stupid question, and he’d asked it almost absently.  But Zack’s breath hitched on the word, his mouth suddenly dry.  Even before she shifted nervously on her feet and worked up the courage to ask him, he knew.   

_Gaia.  Please, don’t ask--_

“Look, you may be able to help me,” she was saying, thoughtfully now, oblivious to his sudden stillness.  “He left Nibelheim to join SOLDIER over two years ago, so he … he wasn’t there.  When it happened.”

_\--Dammit, Spike—_

Zack closed his eyes.  Opened them again, and forced himself to smile just a little, paying attention.  Tifa wasn’t even looking at him, staring at the trashcans fixedly as she rambled.  “…has to know by now that we’re – they’re all dead, and he had family there, too.  But he probably doesn’t know I’m – uh.” 

She stopped, looking embarrassed, and finally gave him a pleading smile.  “I think … I need to find him, Zack.  He’s all I have left.  Please.  You can help, right?  Please – you can ask around in the barracks or something?  He must be in SOLDIER by--”

“This is about the blond kid you asked me about back then, right?” Zack interrupted, voice sounding strange even to his own ears.  His nails were digging furrows into his palms.  He shifted them to plant hands on his hips and squared his shoulders, shaking his head with a smile gone suddenly brittle.  “I told you we didn’t have anyone like that in SOLDIER.”

“Maybe he’s in training?” she asked stubbornly, and he closed his eyes again.  “ _Please_ , Zack.  I can’t find him on my own.  Not fast.  The sooner I find him, the sooner I can – I can go somewhere safe.”

She sounded triumphant now, as if she’d found a magical bargaining point that would force his hand and make Zack produce Cloud with a flourish.  Zack had the sudden urge to just turn and run from her the way she’d fled from him, and he swallowed, stomach churning as she stared at him expectantly. 

He could spit it out.  Tell her the truth, break her heart – maybe break what was left of her – and then she’d have no excuse to stay.  She probably wouldn’t protest at all, then, if he took her by the shoulders and dragged her out of Midgar himself.  Cruel, but it would put her out of harm’s way …

… and then what?  Take away her last hope and kick her out of the city where she didn’t know anyone?  Part of him cringed at the thought.

But it wasn’t fair to lie to her, either.

_What the hell am I meant to say?_

There was a soft shift of cloth, and then he felt her hand touch his arm lightly, voice worried.  “Zack?”

_I can’t._

He glanced down at her and smiled.  “I’ll …try.”

She peered at him.  “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said cheerfully, and wondered if he sounded as hollow as he felt.  “No, I’ll try and find—“

Tifa blinked, her eyes lighting up as she lifted a finger and poked him in the chest, and the lie stuck in his throat.  “You already know him, don’t you?”

Zack flinched.  “What?  No, I--”

“It’s in your face!  You _do_ know him, I can tell!  You even called him a kid!”  She laughed outright, her hand tugging on his arm as she smiled up at him, eyes hopeful as he struggled not to put both hands over his face and hide from her like a little kid himself.  “Where is he?  Did he make SOLDIER?  His name’s Cloud Strife, he’s—“

“Tifa.” 

“He’s doing fine, right?  Training to be just like—“

“Tifa.”

“--like a SOLDIER should be, he wanted to be, to show…”  Tifa faltered as he took hold of her hand and pulled it gently away from his arm.  “…Zack?”

He cleared his throat.  “Maybe you should … sit down.”

“Zack?”  A soft echo of his name as she frowned, and he swallowed, hating himself for not being a better liar.  Bad enough that it still hurt _him_ , no matter how much time had passed – he knew what would happen the moment he found the words, and he didn’t _want_ to see her crumble. 

She didn’t need him to say anything, as it turned out.  He witnessed with painful clarity the sudden, stark realisation in her face, and she jerked away from him as if he’d hit her.  “No.”  She shook her head, fists clenching.  “Don’t.  He’s okay, he’s – don’t you dare—“

“I’m … I’m really sorry.”  And he was apologising after all.  Zack clenched his eyes shut.  “I – Gaia—“

“What happened?” she demanded.  “ _How?_ ”

“Tifa, I swear.  He – he really liked you.  He—“

“ _What_ _happened?_ ”

It was tempting to tell her what _had_ happened.  That he’d practically ordered Cloud to commit suicide.  She’d hit him again.  Maybe she wouldn’t stop.  Zack laughed bitterly and shook his head.  “He didn’t want to take his helmet off, you know?” he said, not surprised his voice was shaking.  Guess it didn’t really matter now.  “Such a shy kid.”

“What…” Tifa paused, staring at him.  “Helmet?” she repeated.

“He’s the one who should be in the papers, Tifa.”  He could at least tell her _that_.   Suddenly, it seemed so important that she knew _._ “He’s the one who—“

“He was there,” she whispered.

“…yeah.” 

Tifa backed away from him slowly, leaning back against the opposite fence with a dazed look.  She was putting it all together, he knew.  Who the cadet had been.  Who’d tried to protect her outside the reactor.  Who she’d hauled back to the inn while Zack kept them both safe, and he’d wanted to _tell_ her that and laugh when Cloud threw things at him… 

_In a different world, maybe._

“Oh, gods,” she said, voice breaking.  “His mother—“

“He knew,” Zack said softly.

Tifa turned away, face stony.  “I have to go.”

“Tifa—“

“No.”  She dodged his outstretched hand.  “Zack.  I’m going.  I have places – I have to—“

“Tifa, listen,” he said pleadingly.  “He—“

“I don’t want to _know_ , Zack!” she yelled at him, and he fell silent.  “Okay?  I just – no.  I can’t – I don’t want to – not now.  Not … now.  Just …” 

Zack stared miserably at her as she took a breath, composing herself in the silence of the alleyway.  She wasn’t crying.  Not yet; maybe not ever. 

Not in front of him, anyway.

“Goodbye, Zack,” she said flatly.  And walked past him back to the street; quiet footfalls, easy to catch if he just reached out and grasped an arm...

He really should have stopped her.  He knew that.  Should have been stubborn and forced her out of the city, or at least found out where she was staying so he could keep an eye on her, or even followed her home. 

He let her go.

\---------

The playground was a lot darker by the time he returned, the dim and flickering lights near the Sector 7 gates its only source of light.  Zack dragged his feet, not wanting to return straight away; but he’d left Aerith there alone and she deserved better than that.  A small spark of hilarity, somewhere in the back of his mind, wondered if she had even bothered to wait.  Technically, he _had_ just ditched her to chase after another pretty girl. 

But she was still there, perched lightly on the overturned flower wagon in the shadow of the playground slide, hands folded in her lap without a hint of impatience.  She glanced up with a smile as she heard his heavy boots scuff across the ground, and then gave him a smile of a different kind, soft and sweet, when she caught the look on his face.

“There was a man just here I think you know,” she said gently.  The gleam in her eyes was too knowing.  “Name of Reno?  He seemed rather annoyed with you.”

“Yeah?” He tried to smile back, and took her hand when she offered it.  “Why’s that?”

“He thought you very rude to abandon a lady at sunset to go running off who knows where.”  Aerith hesitated, and then her hand tightened on his.  “He’s only just left, actually.  Told me he’d keep me company for a bit to make sure I was safe until you returned.  Gallant of him, don’t you think?”

He laughed then, shakily, as he pulled her upright, and tried to hide his relief.  Reno’s way of telling him he had a free pass at least for today.  “I’ll try not to abandon you again, then,” he said.  “Wouldn’t want him getting ideas.”

“Mm.  Well, I have ideas of my own.”

“Really?  And what—“ 

Then he stopped as her arms slid around him and she laid her head on his chest.  Zack swallowed, and then sighed wryly as he ran a hand gently through her hair.  “That obvious, huh?”

“Always,” she said lightly.  “But you know that’s okay, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Zack.”

He smiled wistfully at that.

_Me too._

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wakeup calls.

He would have liked to ask Tseng about Tifa – whether the Turks knew she was in Midgar before or after Zack had run into her in the slums, and why they were leaving her alone – but that would mean acknowledging her presence openly and he wasn’t sure that was a wise idea.  But the thought kept turning in his head; Tseng had said _no survivors_ , and while Zangan might have been able to smuggle Tifa from Nibelheim to Midgar without being spotted, the Turks had been watching the town and Tifa had been _in the reactor_. 

He found it damn hard to believe that the Turks hadn’t seen her being taken away.  And maybe Tseng had turned a blind eye because he’d decided she wasn’t a threat and too much killing had happened already, but …

_You’re the only survivor._

It was a lie, wasn’t it?  Tifa was alive. 

Sort of.

Tseng would have his reasons.   Chief among them was that Tifa was a _complication_ , and talking about her with Zack in any of the places he’d been with Tseng since he returned – all highly public places within Shinra itself – wasn’t really the brightest of ideas.  And it wasn’t rational to think that just because Tseng had lied about Tifa, he might also have lied about Cloud.  What would be the point?  Zack had seen Cloud’s injuries for himself – worse than Tifa’s, worse than his own, and he had real trouble believing Cloud would have staggered off the mountain on his own two feet. 

But the thought was there, bouncing around in his mind and driving him half insane, half angry with himself because he _knew_ it was a stupid thing to be thinking and Cloud had been dead for months, now.  It was high time Zack dealt with that and got on with his life.

Knowing that didn’t stop the dreams from returning.  Nibelheim and Sephiroth and Cloud confronting a madman because Zack had told him to, and he woke up at night shivering with the vaguest of thoughts that maybe this was just how things were going to be from now on, and maybe he deserved the nightmares anyway.  In the light of the day, it irritated him; self pity never solved anything. 

Three and a half months after his return from Nibelheim, the staff counsellor smiled prettily at him and gave him the all clear to return to work for Shinra, pending a briefing with Heidegger when next the big man returned from Junon.  Zack might have been a poor liar, but no one had ever accused him of lacking in the charm department.

The night after that, he dreamed of Hojo.

\---------

The archive and administration facility of the Shinra Electric Power Company was located on the fifth floor, and in the hours before sunrise was shrouded in total darkness.  The only light source was the soft glow of the overheads by the elevator bank, and even that didn’t carry far. 

He’d taken the stairs.  Probably someone might check the cameras in the stairwell periodically, but given everything and everyone important was much higher up, he was pretty sure that the only security cameras actively manned were the ones in the elevators.  It wasn’t like he wasn’t _allowed_ to be here - hell, Zack lived in the damn building and had to deal with paperwork all the time – but coming down here at four in the morning was guaranteed to raise a few eyebrows and he didn’t really feel like answering questions about what he was doing right now. 

_And what am I doing, exactly?_

He let himself into the filing rooms.  Didn’t bother with the overhead lights; he didn’t really need them.  The bank of computers on the far wall was still on, monitors a soft blue in the darkness, and there was more than enough light for his mako-heightened senses to pick up the lettered signs at the edge of each section.  Shinra’s administration department was vast – every shred of information from business deals to media clippings to project notes and invoicing, creditors, debtors, reactor reports …

Employees.  Prospective, current, retired. 

Deceased.

_Making a total fool of myself, duh._

For the smaller print, he’d brought a penlight.  Really, he didn’t need to be here long; find a file, confirm its details, beat his head against the metal shelving for coming down here based on a _dream_ of all things.  Nightmares were nightmares, and the Nibelheim ones always ended badly for everyone involved.  But Hojo had never been in them before.  And he hadn’t given a thought to the greasy scientist since long before Angeal’s death, but …

_“This boy here, hmm?  How interesting.”_

He couldn’t let it go.  He wouldn’t.  Dream or otherwise.  He had to make _sure._   Zack slipped into the employee records section, running his hands along the thin metal edge of the cabinets until he found what he was looking for in the dark:  the archived records for those who no longer worked for Shinra.  He fished the penlight out of his pocket and switched it on, and pulled the heavy metal drawer out as quietly as he could, light playing across the neatly labelled file tabs within.

After a few seconds, he frowned.  _Straker, Strick, Stride … Strohm._ Zack yanked the drawer out fully, ignoring the screeching protest of the cabinet, and flicked through the files one by one.  Then again.  Then he shoved it shut and crossed the aisle to the _C_ cabinet, searching it thoroughly just in case. 

_You’re kidding me._

Frustration grew.  He checked in current employee files just in case some idiot secretary had misfiled Cloud’s records, and blinked as he came up empty again. 

_The hell…?_

This was stupid.  He’d come down here to check for himself that Cloud was actually dead - _KIA_ , the file would say, and he had no idea what it would actually say if Cloud _wasn’t_ dead, but at least the finality of it would have maybe given him some closure and shaken off the uneasy feeling the dream had left him with.  Finding the entire employee record was missing was something else.  What was that meant to mean? 

_Nothing.  It means nothing.  Or …it means Cloud’s file is sitting on a desk somewhere with mine and Seph’s on top of it while Nibelheim is being investigated._

That made sense.  Only Nibelheim had been nearly four months ago now, and if Zack had been given the all clear to return to work then didn’t that mean that their investigations were over?  He scowled in the darkness and slammed the last file drawer shut.  He could check to see if his own records were filed, but it would be hard to confirm now - SOLDIER files were all up in the Director’s office. 

Then he jumped as the overhead lights flared to life and nearly blinded him, and he fought the urge to duck down behind the filing drawers.  Instead, Zack lifted his head and blinked owlishly at the person standing in the doorway until his vision adjusted to the brightness. 

_Dark suit, ponytail …check._ He relaxed.  “Hey, Tseng.”

Tseng raised an eyebrow.  “It’s four thirty, Zack.”

“Really?” Zack smiled cheerfully. “Aren’t you here a little early, then?”

“What are you doing here?”

Apparently, Tseng wasn’t in the mood to joke around.  He shrugged, the picture of innocence.  “Catching up on my filing.”

“At four thirty in the morning.”

“You said that already.”

“I’ll say it again.  Zack…”  Tseng frowned at him, arms folding.  “Don’t you think coming down here on your first day back to skulk around in the dark is a little suspicious?”

“I was _not_ skulking.”

“You certainly weren’t,” the Turk agreed blandly.  “For someone who tried so hard to sneak in here, I might recommend you don’t slam the drawers next time.”

_Ouch.  Fail._ Zack gave him a sheepish look.  “Well, I’m not breaking any rules being here.  Kinda live a few floors up, an’ all.”

“More than a few.” 

Tseng stared at him, long enough that Zack shifted on his feet.  He wondered, suddenly, what _Tseng_ was doing here this early, and leaned against a cabinet, drumming his fingers on the top of the metal.  The answer was pretty obvious.

“You guys still following me?”

Tseng’s stare turned amused.  “I’m surprised you think I would tell you.”

“Huh.”

“Go home, Zack.”

Zack sucked in a breath.  The easiest way was to just ask, wasn’t it?  “Hey… Tseng?”

Tseng sighed, turning to leave.  “Not now, Zack.  Go--” 

“Was Hojo in Nibelheim?”

The small hitch in Tseng’s step was enough that his breath caught.  Zack’s fingers stilled on the cabinet, eyes narrowed as the Turk stepped back into the room and let the door slide shut behind him.  It was the only answer he needed.  He swallowed; recalled Hojo staring at him.  And then at Cloud, and what he’d said, and—

Cloud had been on a stretcher.

Not a dream.

\---------

There were brighter places in the darkness, now.  He clung to them.  Too many days wrapped in fog that left him dizzy and weak and lost, but the pain would always pull him back.  When it did, they’d hurt him again; cold, pricking needles that made him flinch before he sank back into the dark, and while the searing along his nerves and the endless white lights terrified him, the thought that they wouldn’t let him wake up – no control at all – was more terrifying by far.

He had no idea how long he’d been here. 

For now, he was cold.  There was a thin blanket tucked loosely over his shoulders and it wasn’t enough, but he didn’t dare reach out to gather it close.  Cloud lay there exactly as they’d left him, eyes closed against the light, and took what comfort he could from the fact that he was aware for the first time without Hojo being there.  Waking up to Hojo meant the table, and straps that bruised his skin with their tightness and more tests _,_ and his memory always ended on the hypodermics that slid into his arm and sent a river of fire through his veins.  He remembered being very sick for a while – waking on the sensation of his stomach heaving and cool hands gripping his chin, and the fire going through him too _fast,_ pulse hammering in his ears as calm voices issued instructions he never could make sense of…

Vague recollections.  Maybe it hadn’t happened.  He was sick now, though.  At least, he thought he was.  The pain had faded to a prickling ache in his joints, but he shivered under the blanket and his face felt too hot, and he heard more than he thought he should.  Footsteps echoing somewhere; the hum of the machinery in the lab.  A tap dripping.  Other sounds more distant and blurring together enough that he felt dizzy just trying to distinguish between them.  He tried to shut them out – focused on the sound of his own breathing.  Soft and steady enough.

Cloud drifted back to sleep.

\---------

He woke up again to the sound of voices.  The darkness tried to pull him straight back down, but one of the voices was Hojo so he fought, stubbornly clinging to awareness.  There were no restraints this time; he could barely move anyway, limbs leaden and useless and his senses packed in cotton, so maybe he’d been drugged again.  It took him a long time to realise a hand was supporting his arm, cold fingers pressed to his wrist.  Even longer for the words to make any sense.

“--still in Midgar.  It’s a pity.  He’s adapting beyond my expectations.  Recovery this time is nearly a third again what it was for session eight.  The fever has receded entirely.”

“Is that normal?”

“Hn.  It’s not unheard of.  Merely ahead of schedule.  Contact Doctor Grey and tell her to cut her visit short.  Her assistance is required.  Once she arrives, we’ll proceed with the comparison testing.”

“Yes, Professor.”

Cold made a damp trail along his arm that tickled softly into the crease of his elbow, and Cloud struggled to remember why that was important.  Then something tightened on his arm and he felt the prick of a needle.  Hazy and far away, he felt a small flare of fear - but there was no pain that followed.  He barely registered Hojo withdrawing the needle long moments later, or the muttering afterward. 

“Have this tested for compatibility.  The sedative shouldn’t interfere with that, at least.  We’ll do the rest before session ten.”  A pause.  “Therapeutic blood levels, also.  If his recovery rate is accelerating, it may interfere with the sedative.  We will need to adjust accordingly.”

“Is it really necessary?” 

The other voice sounded sympathetic.   The faint warmth brought him strangely close to tears.  He fought those back, too.  Always fighting it.  He couldn’t cry now.  Not when Hojo was in the room.

“He’s just a kid.  How dangerous can--”

“Don’t be an imbecile,” Hojo said mildly, a bony hand drifting across Cloud’s hair to smooth it back from his face.  There was nothing comforting about it at all; nothing like Zack’s friendly ruffling or even the rougher, playful mussing from his earlier days at Shinra.  Hojo’s touch was a mark of ownership.  “The mako brings certain changes, as you are no doubt fully aware.  If you are not, you have no place here.”

“Yes, Professor.”  Dutiful and immediate. 

“Very good.”

They were gone, then – between one breath and the next, and he hadn’t heard them leave, but he knew they weren’t in the room any more.  He wondered how he hadn’t noticed.  It didn’t matter.  Hojo was no longer staring at him, and the faint sense of urgency that had clung to him since hearing his voice was starting to fade.  The darkness was back, pushing him down with a persistence he couldn’t fight.

_Don’t fall asleep._

_Don’t—_

\---------

“What does mako feel like?”

Natural as air; the question was out before he could stop to think why he’d asked, and Zack gave him a funny look as he picked a sliver of glass out of his hair. 

“Why you wanna know something like that?”

Cloud shrugged.  “Well … if I make it, I’ll have to have the shots.”

“Huh.  Good point.”  His friend considered, then gave him a cheerful smile.  “Green.”

“It feels _green?_ ”

“Would I lie to you?”

He frowned.  There was something off about the way Zack was staring at him, head tilted to the side as he fished another piece of glass out of that spiky black hair.  Cloud shifted on the metal stairs and reached out to grip the rail, then nearly lost his balance as his hand slid along slick dampness.  Zack reached out to steady him.  Cold hands.  He shivered. 

“Don’t trip,” Zack said, ruffling his hair.  “There’s blood on the stairs.”

He shied away from that.  _His_ hands were cold now, icy against the guard rail.  He wiped them on his uniform and looked at Zack awkwardly.  “You _did_ lie.”

“When?”

“You went home.”  _Without me._ He pushed Zack away from him and made his way down the stairs – carefully, because Zack was right about the blood and his feet kept threatening to slide out from under him, but it didn’t matter because the blood was Zack’s.  Cloud was fine.  There was a huddle at the foot of the stairs, hidden in the shadow of the pods, and that was where he was meant to go, wasn’t it? 

“Technically speaking, Cloud, that’s not a lie,” Zack said from behind him.  He heard the sound of glass striking metal, setting off a fragile, strange sound that echoed through the reactor.  “People tend to go home.  It’s natural, you know?”

_But that isn’t what you lied about._   He hesitated on the bottom step, because something wasn’t right.  The girl on the ground was familiar, but she was just like Zack; blood-streaked limbs splayed on the ground with the sword through her chest pinning her in place.  The rich brown tangle of her hair was matted against her face.  Cloud’s eyes widened, and he took the last step down to sink to his knees and smooth her hair away.  He’d done that before.  Only—

“This isn’t right,” he muttered.  “Why is she dead?”

“That one’s easy,” a voice said lightly on the stairs above him.  “Too late, weren’t you?”

He flinched, twisting to stare at Zack.  “I wasn’t!  She was fine!”

“Was she?”  Zack lifted an eyebrow.  “You’re the one who thinks she’s dead.” 

Cloud was mesmerised by the darkness seeping along his hairline; knew what it was even in the dim light, because Zack had glass in his hair and the stairs were already stained red.  Which didn’t make any sense, because it was backwards.  Why _was_ there so much blood here?  He didn’t remember it before.  _The rails have it too,_ he thought, and looked down at his hands, expecting to see crimson smeared along the palms and down the sides of his uniform. 

But his hands weren’t red.  They were black. 

“Best to wipe that off,” Zack advised.  “You don’t want an infection.  Oh-- too late.”

He shivered and wiped his hands again, eyes flicking to the rails.  Like grease, only thinner; dripping to mingle with the blood that seeped off the stairs and splashing softly below.  His hands were freezing.  Cloud bit his lip, edging back toward the girl ( _Tifa_ , his mind finally supplied, and he wondered how he could ever forget) when he caught sight of the sword.  Black ice dribbled down the sharp edge from the hilt.  He reached out before he thought and took hold of it, cringing at the sound it made when he pulled it free.  He wouldn’t let it touch her.  She’d get cold.

_But she’s dead._   And Zack was meant to be too, only he was famous now.  Maybe you weren’t allowed to be dead and famous at the same time.  He was pretty sure you couldn’t be dead and cold at the same time—

“Should you really be touching his sword?”

Cloud glanced up.  Zack was frowning at him, and he had to look away from the sight of the darker blood trickling down the side of his face.  “He doesn’t need it,” he said flatly.

“So sure about that?”

There was a loud, echoing bang at the top of the stairs, something hard striking the metal of the door, and Cloud jumped, swinging the sword around to guard.  Twice as long as the practice swords, and infantrymen weren’t trained to use a blade – a rifle, a baton, basic self defence, but never that.  Sharp edges were reserved for SOLDIERs.  All the better to cut themselves with. His fingers stung on the hilt, but he didn’t dare look down at them.  

Zack had helped him practice.   Late in the training hall after his shifts were over, readjusting Cloud’s grip and stance over and over until he got it right, until it was natural.  Cloud swallowed.  Looked at his friend as the noise sounded again, the metal door buckling under the force of whatever was behind it.

“I trust you, Zack,” he said softly.

Zack grinned.  “You shouldn’t.  I have glass in my hair.”

The door swung open.

\---------

He was screaming. 

Blinding light.  Warmth that scratched at him, hands pushing against restraint as fine and flimsy as wool, but it still held him down and tangled around his limbs and he fought it, skin frozen and hair clinging to his cheeks and the back of his neck.  His fingers burned.  So did his face, and he scrubbed at it in panic, fingers dragging down the pain as he tried to get it _off_ him—

Then there were hands, and the light went away, flickering between patches of shadow.  His wrists were dragged away from his face and weight settled on his legs with bruising force, and he wailed, thrashing in their grip.  There was a cry of surprise as he yanked his right arm away, and then his wrist was snatched back again.  More hands on his arms pinning him down. 

_“—was he trying to do?”_

_“Probably hallucinating.  It’s nothing.”_

_“But his—“_

_“It’s expected.  Leave it, and make yourself useful.  Hand me that—“_

Pain, pinprick, ice in his veins.  Something glittered in the shadow, a curve of glass, and he sobbed as he tried to free himself.  Glass wasn’t safe, was it?Then the curve of light shifted and he caught sight of a smile, thin-lipped and cold, and he shut his eyes.

Then the sound went away, so he followed it.

\---------

_\--trust you, Zack._

Warmth of a different kind, and it felt …nice.  The hot water soaked through his hair and splashed down across his shoulders – much warmer than the blanket, and Cloud drifted comfortably under the sensation of fingers carding through his wet spikes.  The light wasn’t bright anymore, and the only sounds he could hear were the echo of water in his ears and a tuneless whistling.  Nothing overwhelming.  He relaxed, sinking down into a light doze. 

It was only when the water began to sting, sliding down his cheek with a faint burning sensation, that he came fully awake. 

For a moment, he just held himself still under the spray as he tried to get his bearings.  He still felt too heavy, and more than a little lightheaded.  Not lying down, not strapped to a table; sitting, propped up against smooth tiles.  A shower, maybe.  It finally occurred to him someone was washing his hair.  It didn’t make any sense at all. 

Maybe Hojo was done with him, and he was in a hospital somewhere. 

His breath hitched.  Maybe he’d been _rescued_.  Zack had come back for him, or maybe someone from Shinra had come down and said there’d been a huge mistake, or Hojo had been arrested for – for kidnapping.  Which nearly made him laugh, and he stopped himself just in time– there was someone else here with him, he was sure it was no one he knew, and new instincts told him to keep as still and quiet as possible, because he had a feeling he wasn’t meant to be awake. 

Maybe he’d had plenty of these in the past and had just slept through them.  The idea of it made him shiver under the hot water.  Made sense, and he didn’t want it to.  How long had he been here?  Weeks?  Months?  Barely awake, unless Hojo had him on the table.  It had never occurred to him to wonder what else was going on while he slept.  And he slept so _much_...

On the other hand, he was surprisingly awake now. 

The water tapered off suddenly, and he nearly jumped as a towel draped over his shoulders, and the tuneless whistling stopped.  Then strong arms caught hold of him and hoisted him efficiently out of the alcove.  He risked opening his eyes a fraction, hidden behind a curtain of wet hair, and caught a blur of stained white tile whirling past before he was deposited on a chair, where Cloud found himself staring hazily at a pair of white shoes before they turned and walked away from him.  Surreal. 

“I’m sure that feels better, kiddo.”  The man’s voice seemed vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t place it.  Friendly enough, even if the tone was condescending, and for a moment Cloud panicked as he realised that had been addressed to _him._ “I’ll dry you off in a minute, but I’m just getting something for your face.  Don’t want that getting infected.” 

_Too late._

He fought down the laughter that threatened to bubble up again – more than a little hysterical – and tried to relax.  The man was walking away from him, opening a cupboard in the room.  Talking to himself, apparently, and Cloud relaxed.  His gaze slid to the back of the man’s knees – pants also white – and then further up to the baton hooked at his waist. 

Cloud blinked.  Watched through his hair and kept entirely still as the shoes turned and approached him again.  But he wasn’t prepared for the gloved hand that caught his chin and lifted his face to the light, the other hand brushing hair away from his face, and then he was staring into the surprised face of the guard.  Cloud froze.  For just a moment.

Then he moved.

Grey eyes widened as they met his, and the guard jerked back from him, his face more curious than shocked.  “You’re–“

Cloud’s hands closed around the baton.

 

 


End file.
